


Found Grace

by charmingwillow



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Pen Pals, Pining, Romance, Wizard!James, muggle!lily
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:07:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26236903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmingwillow/pseuds/charmingwillow
Summary: James is a wizard; Lily is a muggle. Magical folks don’t meet muggles, not on purpose. And yet, even with the war on the rise, they impossibly become pen pals.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 39
Kudos: 71





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, I read a lot of text fics...I still read a lot of text fics, but their concept dug its way into my brain until this story was born and thus, here we are...
>
>>   
> _And I never saw you coming_  
>  And I'll never be the same  
> 
> 
> Taylor Swift, State of Grace 

To begin with, it’d all been Sirius Black’s idea. 

He’d seen adverts for the area in a magazine he’d bought down at the village begged them all to see it. What exactly they were meant to do once there was a mystery. Or maybe it wasn’t, considering Sirius’ continued need to do anything and everything that might anger his estranged family, something that simply existing in Muggle London always guaranteed. 

Not that James was terribly upset by it; Piccadilly Circus was a wonder with all its lights and buses and the most muggles he’d ever seen in all his seventeen and a half years. He felt a charge in the air that was not unlike the general magical atmosphere of Hogwarts; he felt it at his fingertips, and with every beat of his heart.

They, the four of them— James, Sirius, Remus and Peter— were standing under a flashing marquee for a cinema, watching a street performer belt a rousing tune from his trumpet. Peter nodded his head to it while Remus fended off Sirius’ insisting pokes at his side.

“C’mon, Moony.” Sirius thrust his hip against Remus. “Just one dance.”

“Fuck off,” Remus said irritably, but he immediately softened. “You know the full moon’s in a few days.”

Sirius smiled sympathetically and then turned to James. “Duty falls to you, Prongs...Prongs?”

James was not paying attention, because James had spotted  _ her. _

The street performer’s trumpet heralded her arrival into James Potter’s life. 

The whole purpose of this trip— if there was one— into London was completely forgotten the moment he saw her, under a golden beam from a streetlamp. She wore a simple navy blue dress and her red hair hung long and slightly curled at the ends. She looked up in open wonderment as she walked next to a prickly yet imperious looking woman with blonde hair. 

The blonde woman seemed to snap at something at the red head, which soured her expression as she rolled her eyes in a perfect arch skyward— and then landed on James when they came back down. He sucked in a breath; it was too dark to make out the exact color of her eyes but they crackled with familiar mischief.

A slow smile stretched across her pretty face the same time Sirius noticed James staring.

Sirius whistled low and elbowed James hard in the side. “Go talk to her.”

At this, Remus and Peter also looked over.

“I can’t.” James had said, because his feet were very much rooted to the spot as hot panic floodied through him at the prospect. “I can’t just talk to her, what would I  _ say?” _

“Ask if her friend is okay, with that stick up her arse. _ ” _

“Ask if she needs a firewhiskey, from dealing with it.”

“Or a snog.”

“She wouldn’t,” James countered with certainty.

“She might— look, she’s coming over here.”

_ “What?” _

“Hi. I’m Lily.”

  
  
James Potter was a lot of things— Quidditch player, prankster, wizard, to name a few— and all of those things, in his experience, tended to cause people to dismiss him as a troublemaking jock. Maybe he was in his heart but he was perceptive enough to notice life changing moments and catalogue details about them so he could appreciate them later.

The first was when Sirius Black was sorted into Gryffindor. It’d been a sure thing that he’d be Slytherin, like the rest of his family. James, delighted at meeting kids his own age, had been prepared to accept that fact. It didn’t matter how much fun they had on the Hogwarts Express: family tradition, blood, mattered more than friendship. He remembered the ringing silence of the Great Hall when the Sorting Hat called out Gryffindor for Sirius, and how the world narrowed as James and Sirius locked eyes for a second, before the latter was ushered off the stool. James had known: things would never be the same again. 

The second moment was in second year, when they learned Remus was a werewolf. When James, Sirius and Peter had sworn it changed nothing, that they would do their best to help him. James remembered how they whispered this vow in the soft darkness of Sirius’ bed, how it seemed to bind them together, bringing a sense of relief; they were wholly in it together.

They fulfilled that oath in fifth year with the third life changing moment when James, Sirius and Peter succeeded in becoming Animagi. James remembered how it felt the first time his body contorted into its new shape, how painful yet natural it felt. He remembered how gratitude overwhelmed Remus to the point he babbled words of thanks for hours after. Their friendship sealed itself into a pack that year, a brotherhood, as they spent each full moon exploring the forest, pushing against the boundaries of safety for thrill. 

Maybe it was their pride or arrogance that brought the fourth moment: when Severus Snape learned about Remus and Sirius betrayed his secret. The fallout of that was James’ first taste of heartbreak...He remembered with sickening clarity how Sirius’ jaw felt under his fist.

The fifth, and most recent moment, had been when Sirius Black showed up on the Potters’ doorstep in the dead of night, bruised and frightened. Lost...it had forced James to think about what his friendship meant, and what he would do for the people he loved, for the first time. Pulling Sirius over the threshold and into a tight embrace had been James’ first taste of forgiveness.

All of those moments— all of them with his friends, and all that they had been through— had led James to believe everything he’d do in life, he’d do with them. It wasn’t wholly unreasonable; there were only so many people in magical Britain and they were brothers, simple as that. 

James hadn’t thought a night out in muggle London would be one of those moments though, in hindsight, maybe he should have. It was August and the last week of summer holidays but they were of age and had crisp, new Apparition licenses in hand. The world, muggle and wizard, was open to them. They needed only to turn in place. 

The events leading them to this spot had been classic Marauder: Sirius had seen the magazine and then he and James bullied Remus and Peter into joining them on a night out. Classic, and nothing out of character—  _ that _ was lack of courage on James’ part when he saw Lily. James, who could recite a dozen different Sorting Hat verses about Gryffindor and bravery, felt all of that abandon him in favor of smitten helplessness. That combination did not lend itself to any of the admirable Gryffindor qualities and so the moment had fallen to Lily.

Her three words of introduction changed James’ life.

  
  
It was August, the tail end of summer holidays, which had the playful expectancy of a last hurrah, where anything and everything was possible— not unlike the feeling of the season’s last Quidditch game. It was one of those nights where the wind was warm and coaxing, like it had nudged Lily over to James. 

“Hi. I’m Lily.” 

Red hair, green eyes, lovely sprinkling of freckles over her nose and cheeks. As she smiled up at him, James knew he was done for. Though, he could never  _ say _ any of that seeing as how his tongue seemed too stuck to the roof of his mouth to say anything of use. 

Sirius made a mocking snort beside him and shoved at his arm. "This absolute wanker is James," he said for James, earning him a silent plea to  _ shut up. _

"James." Lily said his name slowly, indulgently, like she wanted to taste it on her lips. Then she tipped her head to the left and gave him an assessing up-and-down look. "James, do you want to go for a walk? Preferably one lasts approximately two hours and thirty minutes?”

Did James Fleamont Potter want to abandon his brothers for a  _ girl _ , on their big night out?

“Yes, I fucking do,” James blurted, though he remained rooted to the spot. 

Sirius pushed him out of rank and at Lily's side. "Be home by eleven, Jamesie," Sirius waved him off, like a proud mother.

" _ Morning _ ," Peter helpfully clarified.

"Don't do anything we wouldn't," Remus ironically advised.

James grunted, then swallowed, then allowed himself to be led off by Lily, who looped her arm with his and waved a cheerful farewell to her outraged looking companion. She smelled pretty, as floral as her name, and as they walked down the block James couldn’t help but breathe it in a little. 

“James.” Lily whispered as they neared the block’s end, sounding conspiratorial as she glanced over her shoulder. “Would you be a dear and  _ run _ with me?”

James took a peak over his shoulder as well and found Lily’s companion stomping her way toward them, fury painted across her face; he swore her eyes even flashed red as she screeched at Lily to  _ come back. _

Lily took James’ hand instead and he had only half a second to marvel at the perfect fit before she yanked him forward and across the street just as the signal changed over to red. The blonde woman was left behind and Lily led James down busy muggle streets he’d never seen before, across another junction, and another— James lost count how many times they narrowly missed being hit by a bus or taxi. 

The buildings went from flashy and compact to grand and important; the avenues became wider and lined with trees until the sky opened up completely and they were met with an expanse of darkness dotted with patches of golden lights.

“Park, park,” Lily hissed, panting hard as she steered the two of them toward the darkness.

James’ lungs were heaving, burning, when they ran through the wrought iron and brick gates. They both skid to a stop, hands on their knees and gulped down air. Lily glanced up in the direction they came from. 

“Think we’ve lost her,” she breathed heavily, and then let out a triumphant cry as she pumped both fists into the air. “Ha! Christ, I’ve been wanting to do that all summer. Fuck Petunia and her pretentious plays and bigoted whale of a fiance!” 

James watched, dumbfounded, as Lily’s passion rose with each word, her voice carrying across the park’s entrance, presumably toward this Petunia person. 

James also looked back and indeed, there seemed to be no fury induced blonde woman descending upon them. That was a relief at least, especially since his lungs were currently shouting their own hate for him and definitely not up for a second chase through London. He looked up and into the darkness. Lily had called it a park. 

Faintly, he could see there were paths leading through the trees, lit by the occasional iron lamp, with a bench here or there. It might be pretty during the day; James felt like they walked into a bubble. Piccadilly, bustling and alive, was behind them and now ahead, there was only thick shadow and isolation. 

“Er, Lily,” James couldn’t help but whisper as his skin prinkled with instinctual unease. He stepped back a regrettable but respectful distance. “Aren’t you worried about this? About going off with a strange bloke to...to wherever we’re going?”

“Why?” Lily flashed him a roguish grin not unlike Sirius’. “Shouldn’t I trust a wee lamb like you?”

“A lamb!” His voice was loud and indignant, and Lily laughed. “I’ll have you know that I’m a— a stag, noble and loyal. Thank you  _ very much.” _

“A stag?” Lily rolled her lower lip between her teeth as she scrutinized him and his statement. An eyebrow quirked when she reached his hair. “Ah, yes, I believe I see it.”

Compulsively, James ran a hand through it, which no doubt messed it up more. Sirius always called him a wanker for it; his mum always tutted disapprovingly, muttering about his dad’s hair potions going to waste. Lily just smiled, shaking her head all the while, and James couldn’t help but beam.

“Mhmm, yes,” Lily said, stepping back one more step and taking in his grin. “I have your testimate that you are honorable and now your ridiculous hair is further evidence. We may proceed with the walk. Unless...you find  _ me _ to be suspicious?”

“You did pick me out of a line up,” James pointed out. “Seemingly quite random.”

Lily nodded with pursed lips, as if contemplating this. And then, through her lashes, “is the fact that I find you fit good enough?” 

James’ heart gave a triumphant thump. “That is a ringing endorsement...but I suspect, with your specific request, there’s a little more to it. Who is Petunia?”

Shadow that had nothing to do with the street they were on flitted across Lily’s face and she blinked, momentarily peeved, but then she recovered a second later and offered him an amiable smile. “My sister. She was dragging me to see some dreadful play with her equally dreadful fiance. I needed an escape.”

James frowned. “If you need to go back…”

Lily bit her lip and stared at him. Half engulfed by shadow, she almost appeared to be hiding, but not from him. James half expected her to back away and go off on her own, so determined as she was to find her escape. 

"Are you saying you  _ don't _ want to spend the night with me?"

The wind, which just fifteen minutes earlier had seemed so encouraging and playful, ran through her hair as if gently comforting her. She let her eyes drift to the ground in a moment of soft melancholy and James, who had abandoned his  _ brothers _ for her on the simple basis that she was pretty, was now struck with the realization of how vulnerable she looked. 

A girl who had picked  _ him  _ to be her companion for escape. 

"I'm saying," James took a step forward, reclaiming some of their earlier closeness. "That no one better blame me for keeping you busy."

"Please." Lily assured him with a mischievous grin. “I’m the one who stole you away.”

  
  


* * *

It was a terrible idea though. 

Mostly because of one teensy little international statute that held a special mention in almost all of James' History of Magic essays.

Specifically, it was the statute that forbad James from telling Lily about the completely relevant and  _ enormous  _ fact that James was a wizard. Pureblood, even, from one of the oldest families in the country, which meant that he didn't understand roughly eighty percent of what Lily said.

Unfortunate, because Lily seemed to have some passionate views on topics such as an antiques roadshow, whatever that was, and a doctor named Who...Quite luckily, however, James had studied Muggle Studies up until OWLs  _ and _ he was best friends with Sirius Black so his bullshitting skills were at an above average level. Also, Lily seemed to be taking great pleasure in explaining things to him in great detail as they strolled through the park— St. James’ Park, it turned out, which made Lily giggle about fate. 

“The house was a disaster when that show premiered,” Lily said, face scrunched in this long held grudge. “Tuney was  _ convinced _ we had something of value in the attic but she wouldn’t listen to Mum or me, what could we know about such things?” 

Her voice went a bit high and snooty at this, and she crossed her eyes to complete the caricature of her sister. James laughed and said, “well she did find anything?”

Lily gave him a sly glance and let her voice lower dramatically. “Granny’s pink and gold Bavarian tea service, paid for with hoarded war rations. Worth all of eighty pounds. Petunia packed it away and tossed it in the attic, like it was a personal betrayal. Shame. It is rather pretty. But what about you— any heirlooms hiding away in your manor?”

“Who says I live in a manor,” James hedged, and kicked at a little pebble on the sidewalk. 

“Your posh accent.”

“Planning on raiding the place when the night’s over?”

She playfully nudged her shoulder into him.  _ “Maybe.” _

James thought of his home. His parents, ever curious and tinkering scholars, had him later in their lives so the manor had been set to their tastes long before James arrived. Books were scattered everywhere, overflowing from shelves, and decorating almost every horizontal space in small stacks. Some were even still open to a specific page and had been for months or years, as if their owners still intended to pick up where they left off. 

His dad’s study was littered with half drunk mugs of tea and several dozen jarred specimens and other questionable ingredients for his potions. His mum’s was a minefield of crumpled or discarded parchment and dishes of treats for visiting owls. Baubles, collected throughout their travels and from generations of ancestors, held places of honor in every room, though there was no true curation system. They simply sat wherever a Potter placed them and over the years, James had taken to following his parents’ examples and let his own possessions overflow out from his bedroom. 

James had always thought of the manor as a  _ home,  _ a place of comfort and retreat, not like the cold stately mansion Sirius had grown up in. He knew, logically, that his family’s financial wealth meant there were bound to be priceless heirlooms— his invisibility cloak was evidence enough— and artefacts but he’d never given them much thought. 

Now, in the face of Lily’s anecdote placing her family firmly in the realm of Ordinary, James felt a flush of self consciousness. 

“Er.” He scratched at the back of his head and watched his feet carry him step by step down the gravel path. “Well there’s…”

What did he say? The chest of crystallized unicorn horns his mother vehemently hid from his father for fear he’d used them in a new potion? Their own porcelain tea service, made from genuine chimera bone? 

James hummed in thought, so very aware Lily waited for an answer, and jammed his hands in his pockets. Ah. There. He closed a hand around the etched gold of his pocket watch and drew it out, letting it gleam in the lamplight. Lily stopped walking, right as they reached a wood planked bench; she sat gingerly, followed by James and he let her take the watch into her hands. She let out a soft  _ oh _ and traced a finger over it.

“A forest?” She bent close to inspect it, hair curtaining her face. 

“Yeah.” James moved it so the detailing was easier to see. “Look, there’s the stag. And— here.” He pressed the release, opening it to reveal a mother-of-pearl face with two smaller dials. “Tracks the moon phases here and this is my star sign.” He pointed at each dial in turn. “Mum and Dad had it custom made for my seventeenth birthday in March so it’s not quite antique but give it a few generations.”

“It’s beautiful,” Lily said, soft with sincerity. “So. You’re seventeen?”

“Yeah.”

“So am I.” 

And somehow that launched a full rant about the school she attended, with drama featuring people he’d never heard of. He drank in every word.

* * *

Lily was spirited. That was the word an elder would use, followed by a condescending chuckle and shake of their head, as if lamenting the loss of any control over her, unable or unwilling to understand her in the slightest. 

James was lucky to have supporting parents, quirky and headstrong themselves, so he’d never suffered this particular injustice. He still recognized it though; Sirius was a lifelong victim.

Lily was passionate about life, impatient for it to start, bold enough to jumpstart it— like tonight, when she’d taken James’ hand and forced him to run. There was a common thread expressed in every story she told, one she huffed out with hot frustration: “they just can’t see  _ beyond  _ dreary Cokeworth...” or, “she looked at me like I was broken, not wanting to waste my life away at a desk!”, and James’ favorite, “honestly, I wish knights still went on quests to slay dragons or whatever— I’d do that in heartbeat!”

“Better not,” James advised. “They’re a protected species now. Gnomes, however, are fair game— much safer from a legal stance.” Lily pursed her lips, fighting back a smile, but when James winked at her, she let out a snorting laugh.

Distantly, chimes began to reverberate across the city, deep and mellow; Lily tilted her head, looking skyward. Her voice turned wistful. “My sister’s play should be over.”

James opened his watch, warm from the heat of his hands, and confirmed the time. He hadn’t heard a peep from Sirius from their charmed mirror...and thank goodness, because he hadn’t a clue how to explain that to Lily…

The park had, if anything, only turned darker and quieter the longer they sat. It’d been a while since another person walked past them. They looked at each other then, with James feeling a drop in his stomach and a heavy reluctance to get off the bench. 

Lily let out a sigh and then pulled in a breath of air, paused, and then, “you know...I am rather hungry.”

James sprang lightly to his feet, the night opening itself up to possibility once more. “Lead the way.”

* * *

“Alright, alright, enough about me,” Lily said, wiping some of the chips’ grease from her fingers with a flimsy napkin. “What about you? Surely you’re at some horrendously overpriced stuffy school.”

He stared at her; under the bright lights of the rundown fish and chips shop they’d found, James had discovered her eyes were green, as vibrant as the rest of her, and not looking into them seemed criminal. When he didn’t say anything, she kicked at his ankles under the grease smudged table.

“Uh. Yeah. Of a sort,” James coughed, then smiled down at the remains of his own fish and chips. He’d devoured them; apparently, their sprint earlier had worked up quite an appetite. “It’s a, er, highly regarded boarding school.”

“Boarding school, huh?” Lily popped another chip in her mouth, eyebrows raised. “What’s it called?”

James swallowed but figured— hell, surely the  _ name _ was okay, so long as he didn’t give the full one. “Hogwarts.”

Lily stopped chewing and looked up at him through raised.  _ “Hogwarts.” _ She sounded vaguely amused and James felt the immediate need to defend his school for all of two seconds before he sighed, ceding this one. 

“Yeah, it’s a ridiculous name.” But it was a fond sort of confession, one that brought the corners of his lips up in a small smile, especially as he thought of the school song. 

“And where is this  _ magnificent school.” _

“Oi,” James tossed a nub of a chip at her. “There are loads of other schools you’ve never heard of.” Lily gave a yielding eye roll. “It’s in Scotland, up in the Highlands.”

Secluded as well as centuries of witches and wizards could make it so that its students could learn without fear of discovery or destruction. Inaccessible to muggles in every way— visibility, postage, map plotting. For a moment, James lamented it, because he’d dearly love to boast about Hogwarts. 

Lily didn’t know how it felt to have a blustery winter wind tear through her hair as she made a winning goal in Quidditch. She didn’t know the excitement of running through the corridors in the dead of night, hidden under an invisibility cloak. She didn’t know about the momentary chaos of an exploding cauldron or of Professor’s McGonagall’s uncanny ability to make any man feel small with one look. 

Lily would never know and for one lip biting moment, as James counted the soft dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks and she sucked a bit of salty vinegar off her thumb, he thought about telling her. 

This was a terrible idea.

* * *

James Potter lived on terrible ideas. 

Rarely did he ever conceive one himself, but when any of his other mates stilled and sucked in a breath, James stopped whatever he was doing to hear them out. 

“What would happen if we combined dungbombs with some Filibuster’s Fireworks,” Sirius had once said in third year, “and set them around school with timer charms?”

“Invisible rapid hair growth barriers,” Peter had said in fourth, which had been explanation enough.

“What if,” Remus mused last year, “there were  _ more _ disappearing steps…”

He told Lily about each of those, though they were watered down muggle versions, zero magic involved.

Well.

Once, Lily laughed, and then shook her head in disbelief. “How did you pull all those pranks off?”

James gave his best Mystery Man Wink and said, conspiratorially,  _ “magic.” _

Lily smiled at him in a way that said she was letting him keep his secrets. For now. In another world, another life, maybe she’d wrangle every truth out of him, from the Marauder’s Map to the invisibility cloak. In another life, she’d be at school with him and  _ that _ particular what if squeezed at his chest as he wondered what it’d be like. 

Big Ben chimed again and Lily bit her lip as she looked out toward it. They could just barely make out the dark, spindly tip rising over the ornate muggle government buildings. Breath held, they both quietly counted each bell strike and waited as they rippled out into nothingness after.

“It’s the witching hour,” Lily whispered when the last of the bell chimes faded. “Do you believe in magic, James?”

The question made every bit of blood in James freeze. In front of him and far below, the Thames flowed past, it's’ dark depths oblivious to his plight. Above, a pretty line of trees stretched over them in a canopy that rustled in the cool pre-dawn breeze. Confronted with this question, James felt utterly alone, the hero facing his ultimate test. 

He swallowed, and countered with, “what’s witching hour?” He was certain any hour was a witching hour where he was concerned. 

Lily looked skyward, her gaze pensive. “They say it’s when witches or supernatural beings are most powerful.”

James has heard no such thing and he tipped his head in curiosity. “Who is  _ they?” _

Lily made a vague gesture with her hand. “Just.  _ They.  _ Probably the ones who did all the witch hunting.”

“Ah.” James rolled his eyes and let out a scoff. “Yes.  _ Them.” _

“Don’t sound so offended,” Lily laughed lightly, elbowing him. “It’s not like  _ they _ hurt  _ you.” _

“Hmm,” James crossed his arms.  _ Just maybe a few of my ancestors _ , he wanted to say, but couldn’t because it’d raise too many questions, erred too close to the truth he was forbidden to voice. Instead, he asked, “do  _ you _ believe in magic?”

Not that this question was much safer...

* * *

How did they go from earlier to  _ this? _

Nevermind what  _ Sirius _ had been planning, James had intended all along to be home at a respectable time after the film; Lily had surely been of a similar mind. She’d only had to survive the dreadful play with her sister. 

How did they go from the bustle and spectacle of Piccadilly to here, this sleepy street by the river, soft and delicate in the dawn light? When had the sun replaced the velvet of night, brightening the world until both of them were bathed in pale gold?

It caught in Lily’s hair, making it look like flame, and she sighed ruefully. “Petunia’s going to kill me.”

James nodded to himself— not that he agreed with Petunia’s possible actions, that was ridiculous, but because his throat was raw from talking and talking and talking. All night, from St. James’ Park, to the chippy, down broad avenues, narrow alleys, and finally to this bench. 

It all felt like a dream and, as Lily peered at him through long lashes, her eyes so green and wistful, he didn’t want it to end. 

It struck James, as sudden as a bell hammer in Big Ben, that he might never see Lily again, and how did he do that? They’d gotten here, somehow, but how did they go forward like everything was normal? It was such a small act; all she did was boldly say hello and take his hand… 

Lily seemed to know the answer; after yawning hugely into her hand, her pensive look was back, her eyes narrowed at something in the distance. “I’m here for the rest of the week you know.”

Hope flared in James so quickly that he flushed a bit, following Lily’s gaze in an attempt to recover. It seemed like she was implying— but she didn’t say anything more and so James plucked up some boldness of his own. 

“Meet here again? Tomorrow?”

Sly, as if it were her grand plan all along, Lily looked over at James and nodded once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have quite a bit written already-- up to chapter twelve. But! I'm planning on doing heavy edits/rewrites as inspiration strikes so I have no dedicated posting schedule. I've just been writing this story since February and am sick of having it live only in my brain/computer. If you'll stick with me, with patience, then I'm sure this will be a fun journey. 
> 
> [Tumblr!](https://charmingwillow.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >   
>  _But I can see us lost in the memory  
>  August slipped away into a moment in time  
> 'Cause it was never mine  
> _   
> 
> 
> -Taylor Swift, august

Golden lamp light glittered over the brackish water lapping lazily against the stone wall below. A couple of ducks swam by, careful to avoid the back splash of water and ruffling their tails when they couldn’t. Lily leaned over the iron railing and watched them as long as she could, her dark red hair falling in a curtain over her bare arms as she did. She tapped a beat with her toe on the concrete, idly swaying to the song in her head. 

She couldn’t see the ducks anymore; they’d gone off, scared into the underpass by a loud _crack_ from somewhere— a car, probably— and Lily leaned her head on her arms and watched the gold bands of sun off in the distance. The buildings on the other side of the Thames sparkled with slightly less brilliance than the water, more gray gloom under the scarlet sunset clouds, but it was beautiful all the same. A cozy pocket of summer…

Someone leaned up against the railing beside Lily, their body close to hers, and warm, solid. She startled up and came face to face with James grinning down at her.

“Oh!” She said, straightening and pulling her hair back over her shoulder, using her other hand to poke him in his side. “Don’t do that, too many weirdos around here for that.”

James’ grin quirked in amusement. “Ah, so _now_ you’re concerned about strangers in London.”

“You’re not a stranger,” Lily said with a lofty shrug of her shoulder. 

The poke that came her way was teasing. “Not anymore.”

They both lingered in this moment, the two smiling at each other, letting the soft summer air breeze between them, bringing with it a scent of brine from the river, and sun— if sun could be a scent, but what else could that bright, glowing smell be? 

Possibility, perhaps, for the night ahead of them. The sun dipped steadily lower into the horizon and, having seen it in the night before, Lily knew London was awakening itself. Though shadow descended onto them, the distant buildings over James’ shoulder cast back bright lights into the sky. 

They could leave this spot and shoot straight into the center of it all, just as they did last night… or they could stay in a quiet bubble, just the two of them… just as they did last night. 

All day, Lily had sat in a sleep deprived haze, ignoring her sister’s lectures about running off as she wondered what they’d do. Where would their feet take them? What fantastical story would James weave for her as they strolled through shadow and golden light? 

Exhausted as she was, she’d still counted down the hours and minutes for this moment, her skin prickling from anticipation, hardly able to sit still from her restlessness. And now here it was, James smiling teasingly before her and with the reminder that they weren’t strangers. 

And, unexpectedly, Lily’s face warmed and she ducked her head, away from James in a bout of shyness. 

“Oh, bollocks,” she laughed to herself, and then peeked up at him sideways. “Sorry, it’s just that— I really did that last night, didn’t I? Drag you away from your friends. Who _does_ that?”

James propped his elbows on the iron rail and stared up at the darkening sky for moment before dropping a bashful smile down on her. “Nah, but I followed you— all night, so I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

“Rather strange, aren’t we?” 

The smile that crept onto James’ lips was slow and mysterious. “Ah, Evans, you have no idea.”

It shouldn’t have worked on Lily but there was something about James’ smile, and it wasn’t just his eagerness, although it certainly encouraged her. It wasn’t his fashion sense either— it was basic, functional, nothing special at all about his jeans and t-shirt. They were clothes that blended into crowds because of how normal and plain they were— yet somehow Lily had noticed him anyway. 

A stray breeze ruffled James’ black hair and he promptly ran a hand through it, causing more disarray in the strands and her lips twitched. Maybe it was that that she’d noticed…

Or maybe, she thought, as he kept smiling at her, it was the sincere spark in his eyes, that he really did believe in things like magic and gnomes and that he was strange. Throughout last night, she found herself squinting at him after such comments, unsure if there was a joke, but all she got was a wink. It only piqued her curiosity. 

She tilted her head up, all skeptic and examining, but she couldn’t keep the humor from her voice. “Give me some idea.”

Here was another thing that kept her curious— he considered his answers, mulling over something, molding his thoughts into whatever version of reality he wanted to share with her. Should it have bothered her? Maybe, but it didn’t. Instead, she found herself amused, willing to go along with the game for the escape of it because his answers were never expected. 

“What were you humming,” James countered.

Lily’s blush came back in full force. “I was not humming!”

“You were,” and then to her mild horror, James started humming the song himself. 

It wasn’t perfect, it was clear he really didn’t know the song, but it still managed to be recognizable but rather than give in to her embarrassment, Lily took up the challenge of correcting him. 

“... _the music begins to play,”_ she sang softly, almost under her breath, but it was loud enough for James to stop his humming entirely so he could listen properly. “ _Hopeless romantics, here we go again… but after a while you’re looking the other way…”_

She certainly looked the other way, still rosey pink in the cheeks, out to the water sparkling like black diamonds— not quite sure why it had to be _those_ lyrics stuck in her head. Her voice faded at the lost note, leaving the space between them completely and jarringly quiet. 

“You’re shy tonight.”

Was she? Lily smiled in her elbow and tossed another sideways look at James. “Maybe because I’m realizing you’re real.”

James laughed. “What? Did you think I just appeared out of thin air?”

Lily squinted at him for the first time that night and, after a moment, said, “you know, sometimes I think that maybe, yes, you do.”

The way he stared at her, half paranoid frown, half amusement, Lily wondered if, in actuality, he _could_ defy physics that way, but instead he laughed and shrugged it all off. 

“Are you hungry?”

Perfectly on cue, Lily’s stomach grumbled loud enough for James to hear; they smiled at each other, and then they were off, pulling each other into London once more.

* * *

“So, then,” James asked after swallowing down a bite of chicken kabob. “What was the song?”

They were sat on the curb of a sidewalk that was amber from street lamps and bustling at the end from the corner pub. It was sort of an accident, how they’d found the kabob shop. They’d just done what they had the night before: started walking and seeing where their feet brought them.

So, Lily took a stalling bite of her own kabob, stealing a glance at him as she did, just as she’d done all night. He was quite content with his kabob, oblivious in the curiousness of his question. When she swallowed, she said, “how do you _not_ know it?”

James stared down the road, toward the overflowing pub. His gaze settled on the people there for a moment, as they laughed or swayed to a song within, one that they could barely hear but held the thick, dynamic sounds of a guitar and heart thumping drums. 

“Do you know _that_ song?” James shrugged a shoulder toward the pub.

Lily thought she might have a better chance at recognizing the song if the pub weren’t so lively. All the same, she stilled, concentrating, but since the pub patrons didn’t give her the same courtesy, she soon shook her head. “Might be Bay City Rollers…”

James laughed while running a hand through his hair sheepishly. When she raised a brow, he shook his head. “You just proved my point useless, that’s all. You know it— well, the band at least.”

Lily squinted at James, her second of the night, to see if he was joking but he just sat in easy, ignorant bliss, finishing off the rest of his kebab. “Wait— ex _cuse_ _me_. Do you _not_ know Bay City Rollers? Where have you _been?”_

“Secluded boarding school in Scotland,” James replied, fighting back a smile. “But I think Mary likes them.”

Causal as you please, Lily took another bite of her kebab, appreciating the tenderness of the meat, the wash of spice over her tongue, and asked, “who’s Mary?”

“Girl at school,” James replied. “In my year and house, actually. Yeah— I’m pretty sure I heard her and the other girls squealing over a new Bay-whatever record.”

“And yet, you don’t know their music.” Lily meant this to be teasing but her tone was definitely more bafflement than playful. 

James crumpled up his kebab wrapper into a neat ball and shrugged. “Well, I don’t exactly spend much time with the girls. Mostly out with my mates.”

“Getting up to mischief.”

James’ grin was lopsided. “Yeah.”

Like a moth to flame, Lily got caught up in his grin and the open delight glittering in his hazel eyes. There it was again: the sense James Potter had secrets only he knew the answers to, that he belonged somewhere else and not exactly with her. The stories he’d told last night filtered to memory: stuffing dung in firecrackers; making his classmates grow beards in the blink of an eye; disappearing steps… it didn’t make any sense on how he’d accomplished the second two, and his answer had been maddeningly vague.

_“Magic.”_

Under the city’s stars and golden light, Lily had found herself content to play along, a childish giddiness flooding through her and drowning the natural skepticism that came with age. 

Or at least, the shunning disbelief that Petunia _insisted_ she adopt but Lily had always found herself quietly straying from that path since before she could remember. Since the time summers had seemed boundless and she could spend hours in the garden coaxing fairies from their hiding spots, her indulgent father by her side. 

She’d never found any fairies, of course, and practically— logically— Lily knew magic didn’t exist, that it was all fantasy. As she grew older, she sometimes found herself contemplating Petunia’s hard stances on reality because, well— during what felt endless and lonely nights, she longed for an escape. 

Lily closed her eyes and breathed in the warm, sticky London air— it felt warm like her childhood and… not at all because this city hadn’t been a part of her imaginings. But, when she opened her eyes and saw James watching intently, she sensed a familiarity she couldn’t quite put her finger.

“Tell me about something magical.”

Everything about James stilled, even his breathing for a second, and his warm brown skin seemed to pale ever so slightly. She tilted her head at him in confusion, wondering and wondering, but he swallowed thickly after a moment and shook his head.

“Um,” he looked up, scrunching his eyes closed in thought, and then cleared his throat. “When I was a boy, I found a book in Mum’s study, about some mirror that shows your deepest and truest desire.”

Lily latched onto the fantasy. “What’s it called?”

“I can’t remember.”

“What’s your desire then?”

“That you went to school with me.” 

Lily choked out a laugh but James’ side smile was sly, so pleased with himself. She sensed the question coming at her a mile away; James didn’t even have to voice it, only stare expectantly.

Sometimes when Lily was alone, she’d let herself be carried away back to those happy summers. Some days, the wind whistling by her window sounded like a girl’s laughter, or the deep chuckle of her father. If she closed her eyes, she could feel the heat of the sun on her face, the warmth of her father’s hands in hers as she led him ‘round her play spots. 

Lily finished off her kebab, crumpled the paper just as James did, and rose from the curb. “Come on,” she said as she tossed the greasy paper into the shop’s bin, hoping he’d never ask her again. “I know where we can go next.”

* * *

Based on James’ stories, night was his domain. It was where he’d unleash his mischief, sneaking through dark corridors at school, hushing his friends all the while. 

And, of course, it was where Lily met him. 

Outside of it, away from velvet shadow and golden light, it was jarring. Watching him flick through album after album, the fluorescent lighting of the record shop casting harsh light over him… Lily could see he wasn’t a fantasy, not like the rest of his stories. 

She could see the scrunch of his brow at each band he didn’t recognize; she saw every twist and curl of his nest of black hair. She could see clearly how big his hands were, how sure they were and— well, she didn’t need to be staring at the lean muscle of his arms… 

Lily glanced back down at her own bunch of records, the E's, and flicked through a few and their colorful artwork before— “aha, here it is.” 

She pulled out the album and made her way down the aisle, James following one over. They met at the end where a small table bearing a record player sat, between them. Lily set it up, pulling out the record from its sleeve, placed the player’s needle upon it, and the Eagles’ mellow guitar rose into the store. 

Lily couldn’t help but idly sway to it, her hands clasping her elbows, almost demurely. She looked up at James, his eyes trained on her. She smiled, and he spoke over the music.

“What did Petunia say about last night?” 

Lily scoffed, but kept swaying, determined not to let her sister’s disapproval ruin her fun. “Doesn’t matter, does it, since I’m here anyway?”

Over the music, James’ mouth pulled into a hopeful little smile. “So, we could do this again tomorrow?”

  
  


_“You look in her eyes; the music begins to play…”_

* * *

Lily blinked awake some hours later, a bold beam of late afternoon sunlight falling over her bed and coaxing her to consciousness. Slowly, the night came back to her, the hours of walking and talking; her dry throat and a dull ache on the soles of her feet were evidence it’d happened. 

But so was James’ voice, echoing on loop in her mind, and she smiled to herself, paying special attention to the memory of his laugh, before yawning, stretching and then finally opening her eyes.

Petunia sat on the bed’s end, her mouth tight in disapproval as she regarded Lily— and then she reached out and smacked Lily hard in the thigh.

“ _Ow_ — Tuney, what was that for?” Lily rolled away, swinging her legs to the floor and rising from the bed with a slight wince. She took a few steps, ginger in her stride, rubbing the spot Petunia struck.

“Had a good night, did you?” Though Lily couldn’t see with her back turned, she knew Petunia was glaring harsh daggers at her. “You saw _him_ again, didn’t you?”

Lily pulled her suitcase from the bottom of the wardrobe and opened it, its various contents all but spilling out onto the carpeted floor: jeans, shirts, a white dress, a half used eye pencil, the Playbill from the play the other night. The one she’d skipped when she saw James.

Petunia scoffed crisply, pointedly, and Lily belatedly realized she’d taken her silence for confirmation. “Well I told Mummy. She’s livid.”

Lily tossed the dress onto her bed, narrowly missing Petunia who grabbed it and smoothed out the wrinkles, her own brow furrowed with distaste— either for the dress itself, or the sloppy packing, Lily wasn’t sure, but wouldn’t be surprised if it were both.

“You can’t just keep gallivanting across London with some boy you don’t know, Lily,” Petunia continued, somehow making even basic concern snotty, as her nose literally turned up at _some boy._ “It’s dangerous, he could hurt you.”

Lily plucked up the eye pencil and rolled it between two fingers. “He hasn’t. He won’t.”

She said this with all the confidence of someone who’d known James Potter for years and not a mere two nights. 

Petunia sniffed, unimpressed, clearly dismissing her as naïve. She gingerly lifted her hand away from Lily’s dress and stood from the bed. “Honestly, Lily. What would Father say about all this?” 

The eye pencil clattered to the floor as Lily dropped it and gripped the back of the wooden chair by the tiny vanity and said, voice tight but soft, “don’t use Papa against me.”

“Well don’t get yourself killed,” Petunia said after a beat, her own voice cold as she moved into the doorway. “And _don’t_ embarrass me in front of Vernon again.”

Petunia left; the door of her own bedroom clicked closed a moment later, leaving Lily standing by the vanity, staring out the window beyond the mirror, down at the street below, where the day was well underway. No shadows, no amber glow from the street lamps. Just bright sunshine and people going about their day, oblivious to the words ringing through Lily’s ear.

_What would father say?_

* * *

It was just a basket of chips this time, shared on a bench at some dark park situated between two blocks of townhomes. Lily had spied a sign stating, in no uncertain terms, that its use was strictly for the community residents but it certainly didn’t stop James from strutting past it and claiming this bench.

James sat at one end of the bench, with plenty of room for her, and then waited for her to follow, his smile ever present. He took a couple of chips and shoved them in his mouth, sucking off the salt leftover on his thumb. “Got a bit soggy and cold during the walk, but still fantastic. Here.”

Lily smiled at the sincerity with which he held out the basket and joined him. He was right; the chips weren’t as crisp or fresh as they could be, but their general greasiness was perfect. 

Lily slipped off her sandals and tucked her bare feet under her legs, carefully arranging her skirt as she did. Beyond the golden bubble of light from the lamp beside the bench, they saw nothing but silky night and heard nothing but the idle breeze rustling the trees and the crickets chirping in the darkness around them. 

“James,” she began when they’d finished half the basket. “Why’d you follow me that first night?”

They’d teased about it before; Lily flushed at the memory of picking him because she thought him fit. But he’d never really said, and with Petunia’s words burrowing into her brain, hushing her usual night energy, she had to know. 

James seemed to freeze: back straight up, though he blinked out into the darkness. Lily watched him summon the words to explain, a fluttery _thump thump_ in her chest now. 

“Ah,” James said, and then had to clear his throat. His cheeks grew a shade darker and Lily’s mouth pulled into a smile, anticipating his answer. “Well, what would _you_ do if a fit bloke sauntered up and offered his hand to you?”

“Run in the opposite direction, as my sister insists I do,” Lily replied, and then winced, looking down at her hands folded on her lap. “She’s right, you know. This could have backfired in the worst way. I barely know you.”

James was silent a moment as he grew sober, his flush leaving as he faced her fully. “I won’t hurt you.”

“I know,” Lily said, softly, having known this truth for three nights now but relishing its certainty. “Have your people said anything?”

James turned away and stared at some unknown spot along the grass and frowned. Considering his words again, though no fantastical half truth would follow, not this time. “Euphemia— my mum— told me to be careful. And not to keep you out late so not to worry _your_ mum.”

“...you call your mum by her name?”

“Yeah? What about it?”

“Nothing,” Lily laughed, “it’s cute.” She plucked up another chip and ate it, half smiling into the darkness. 

“Hey, Lily,” James said, pulling her gaze back into their little bubble. She found him staring, unsmiling, at her but it was still somehow soft. Open in new affection. The flutter in her chest came back on swift wings. “I think you know why I followed you.”

 _Oh, Christ._

Lily did not grab another chip, though she’d reached out to do just that. Instead, her hand fell flat on the bench beside the basket and she sucked in a deep breath and let herself be caught by James’ hazel eyes for possibly the hundredth time—

A beam of light hit their faces and they both winced back, blinking and blinded as a sharp voice called out, “ _OI! You can’t be here!”_

Lily squinted into the darkness and could just barely make out a silhouetted and hazy figure at the other end of the park, waving its torch at them. “Oh, shit,” she said and hopped from the bench. Her feet hit dewy grass and she cursed again, remembering her sandals. 

James, laughing all the while, scoped up her sandals and held out his other hand to her, “for old time’s sake?”

Of course Lily had no hesitation in taking his hand and running as fast she could through the grass with him. 

Of course.

* * *

The sun was coming up purple and pink when James took her hand again, stopping them both as they made their way down a walkway along the Thames. In front of them was Big Ben, their center point and silent witness to their nightly escapades. 

Brazenly, Lily turned James’ hand over with her other hand, examining it in the soft sunrise light. He had calluses along both palms, and his fingers were long, his grip eased for her but she still sensed his strength. 

“I can’t come tomorrow night. Tonight, whatever.” 

Lily looked up, her heart sinking, and found James frowning down at her. “How come?”

She could see the thoughts churning in his head as he considered what to say, and for once, she felt frustrated when all she got was, “business with the lads. It’s been on the table for a month now. Longer, really.”

Lily didn’t say anything for a moment but eventually she nodded, her short acquaintance with him making her unable to protest. “Well… have fun, I suppose.”

James replied with, “we’ll see.” He looked down at their hands, still joined, and smiled at them. “But what should we eat on Sunday?”

* * *

All day, from the moment Lily stretched awake on her bed around noon, she heard Petunia moving about. 

Washing in the kitchen, dishes dunking in out and of lemony, soapy water. Hoovering in the sitting room, down the hall, and right up to Lily’s closed door. Even after all that was done, Petunia kept on the move, using her day off from work to tidy what was already a spotless flat. 

When Lily finally ventured out, after about an hour of silently flipping through a book and not really reading any of the pages, Petunia cornered her at last, right as she was about to disappear under a hot shower. 

“Are you going out with— _him_ , again?” Petunia didn’t even bother to hide her distaste, frowning as she looked Lily up and down, crossing her arms as she did. 

Lily wondered what Petunia saw in her just now; surely there were the dark bags under her eyes, the ones she took great pains to cover every night now. Possibly also the exhaustion sagging her posture, causing Lily to lean against the bathroom door frame to ease her sore feet and just generally stay upright. Physical evidence of her nights out. 

In contrast, Petunia looked as pretty as her namesake, her blonde hair shiny and her blue eyes bright— now if only she’d get rid of the judgement twisting within her… 

“Well?” Petunia asked, impatience a driving force behind the words.

Lily yawned, wide and long, right in Petunia’s face to hide the sudden melancholy that crashed over her as she realized that no, she wouldn’t be seeing James tonight. Petunia scoffed and turned away, done waiting for an answer.

“Vernon is coming over for dinner,” she said, making her way back to the kitchen.

Lily waited a moment and then followed, padding silently along the carpet and stopping at the end of the hall to peer into the kitchen. Petunia pulled open a pale yellow drawer and took out a well loved ring of notecards, soft at the edges, some stained with faded red or brown from a long ago sauce. 

Lily watched Petunia flip through the notecards, searching for whatever recipe she needed, and then let her eyes drag across the rest of the flat. A decorative vase sat on the dining table, as well as a framed photo of Petunia and Vernon. But nothing of her family, no family pictures of a wide-grinned Lily, or the proud poses of their parents. Just the vase and a few abstract watercolors.

“Do you want me here,” Lily asked.

Crisp blue eyes flicked up to Lily and narrowed, searching for the answer in this trick question. Lily knew though— she wasn’t wanted in this flat at all, not this week, or any other time. If it weren’t for their mother insisting they get some sisterly bonding, and the fact that it was _London,_ Lily wouldn’t have even considered a visit. 

Petunia knew that, but she also knew this specific question, _now,_ was for tonight. So, choosing her words carefully, she said, “Vernon was quite unimpressed with your little stunt the other night.”

“So no,” Lily filled in and pushed off from the wall. “Just as well, I was also unimpressed last week, at that lunch.” Petunia pursed her lips but Lily carried on. “Honestly, Tuney, how can you stand that— barking orders at the waiters, not even a thank you?”

Petunia said loftily, “that’s what they’re paid for, waiting on us.” Lily scowled but Petunia sniffed and went back to her notecards.

Well, Lily considered, as Petunia found a satisfactory recipe and set to work preparing it— she’d done her dull diligence as far as Vernon was concerned. She’d met him, disliked him, and did nothing to hide it. Petunia never cared for her opinion, why should she start now?

“I’ll make myself scarce,” Lily said, and then finally disappeared into the bathroom. 

* * *

The problem was that Lily didn’t quite remember what she’d done with her time before James came along.

That wasn’t true.

Everything she’d done had been on her own terms, from her own mind with minimal outside encouragement. Like her father whispering about fairies in the bushes— she’d been off leading a whole expedition in the garden. In later years, when she wasn’t studying or visiting with friends in Cokeworth, she’d spend long nights buried in a book or curled in front of the TV, lost in worlds different than her own. 

But here she was, laid out in a sprawl in her rumbled bedsheets, staring through the window at the burnt orange dusk settling over London. Gray shadow fell over the bed and her, making her room soft but gloomy. 

A book lay on her lap, already forgotten from Lily’s disinterest; she couldn’t focus, not when her thoughts always found their way back to James. Wondering what he was doing now, if he felt as lethargic as her. Did he even think about her at all? What were his friends laughing about? 

Thoughts of boys had never invaded her mind or rendered her a melancholic mess on her bed before. The scent of roasted chicken and vegetables had seeped through the small gap beneath her door; dinner was almost upon them and any moment, Vernon would be on Petunia’s doorstep. 

She sat up, the book falling to the floor with a soft thud. For the first time all afternoon, a sense of self awareness sparked within her, pulling her from her fog and off her bed.

Her sister would get her romantic evening while Lily was lying in bed feeling decidedly pathetic.

Ugh.

* * *

Gold met silver by the Thames, as the full moon’s light shone over the city, right down to the street lamps lining the river.

James wasn’t there. 

Lily knew he wouldn’t be, but her feet still found their way there, some subconscious part of her hoping that maybe, maybe he’d cancel his plans and meet her anyway. Her brows furrowed as Lily thought about that, as she rested her arms along the stone wall along the river.

The independent side of her appreciated he’d kept his plans. The romantic part of her, the one who thought of his wide grins and the light in his hazel eyes, wished he’d appear from the shadows and sidle up to her. 

But he didn’t, and the space around her remained quiet, the air soft. Warm, but not with James’ magnetic warmth. 

It was okay. 

Lily rested her chin on her arms and stared out into the dark, sparkling water, until a faint smile tugged at her lips and she pulled away from the wall.

What _would_ they eat tomorrow? 

* * *

Sometime in the night, long after Lily had come back to Petunia’s flat, heavy gray clouds gathered over London and let loose a shower that cooled the city, shrouding it under a haze of mist. It hadn't stopped raining by the time Lily plucked an umbrella from the stand by Petunia's door and dashed down the stairs of the building. 

It hadn't stopped raining when Lily exited the underground station and made her way to the Thames. Rain plopped onto her umbrella in a constant patter as she rounded the corner and spotted James standing by the stone wall under his own umbrella.

His shoulders were sagged from exhaustion but his grin was easy when he saw her. Lily's steps were slow, seemingly uneager as she approached him. The tips of their umbrellas met, splashing rain between them, merging their respective bubbles.

"Hello," Lily smiled.

"Hello." James replied.

Lily frowned and tilted her head to the side, assessing James. A long red scratch stretched across his forehead, and small bruises bloomed along both arms. The dark circles under his eyes almost eclipsed his other features. "You look rough. Tired."

The sigh that came from James was like admitting defeat, and he slumped over a bit, no longer trying to hold it together. "I am."

"What did you do last night?"

James bit his lip, his gaze slightly distant, not entirely there with her. Thinking of whatever it was he did last night, deciding what parts to tell her. "Drank with the lads. Sort of went feral, Remus especially, but it was alright."

When would everything James said stop seeming so intriguing?

"Ah, so it's just a mighty hangover."

James' sly smile came back in full force. "Yeah."

More rain pattered, harder now, and the chill breeze drifted through them. Lily gestured behind her, a few drops of rain wetting her hand as she did. 

"Easy night then. I found the perfect spot last night."

* * *

And so the week passed, one night at a time, James by her side, or following just behind. Together, through rain puddles, their edges glistening silver or gold as their feet kicked the water up toward the street lights. Through darkened gardens and cozy alleys, Big Ben a looming specter in the background, their center point. 

They had their favorite places; the amber colored street by the kabob shop from a few nights ago. Or, of course, the riverside and its stoned wall made soft under the sunrise. Exhaustion didn’t matter, though her feet had started to protest the constant walking— so they found more benches, more parks or gardens where Lily would curl her legs up under her chin and watch James. 

After James’ adventure with his friends, when he came back utterly knackered, they spent most of the night in an all hours bookshop café. They didn’t say much; James just nursed a cup of tea and listened as Lily read excerpts of her favorite books. Since then, they spent a lot of their nights not saying much, just walking in each other's company or watching the ever changing night sky. 

Once, James brought a bottle of wine; they settled into a park and took large, giddy swigs. It might’ve been its rich, sweet taste making her fuzzy, but sometimes, Lily thought the wine shifted into different sparkles and shimmers.

Another time, Lily was in the midst of telling him about something she’d heard about in America, where fireflies would gather in the mountains and glow in sync, a sea of golden stars, when James gave a tiny cough and nodded off to the side. Lily gasped at the small cloud of fireflies glittering just as the article said they did.

“Must be lucky,” James said, shrugging with a convenient nonchalance, as if this strange phenomena was both his doing and not at all.

Sometimes, Lily wondered if it was, somehow. She spent a long while watching him and the way he didn’t quite meet her eyes when she casually questioned him about _how_. 

Sometimes, just as she had since their very first meeting, Lily wondered about the peculiar person that was James Potter and all the things he didn’t talk about— about the world he kept one foot in at all times.

Sometimes, most times, Lily wondered where the week had gone. Because one moment, she had just arrived in London, facing what seemed like an eternity with sour faced Petunia, and the next— James, and all her plans, whatever they might’ve been, were changed. 

And the week had slipped away, leaving only sunrises, and crumpled food wrappers and an empty bottle of wine in its wake 

And all of a sudden, James was staring up at the rosy pink sunrise and saying, “I go back to school on the first— tomorrow, now.”

* * *

Deep down— and even then, not that deep— Lily had known this was coming for them both. August was bittersweet this way; glorious summer, a last hurrah before reality came beckoning. 

She felt oddly calm as she looked at where James set his gaze, and nodded. 

Was she foolish to think she’d had something with him? August was fickle like this, wasn’t it? To make hope a tangible thing in the nights they had and then whisk it away within a moment. But it wasn’t just her; James had his hand in things as well, he’d met her every night, walked with her, talked with her… 

She glanced down at the bench beneath them, its white paint starting to chip where their hands rested, still damp from the rain the other night. When she wasn’t looking, sometime in between all the talking and little magical moments, they had become— closer. James’ hand brushing occasionally across her back when he wanted to guide her a certain way, or her palm flat on his bicep to steady herself when he made her laugh and laugh. And now, his hand resting inches from hers. She could have sworn the space between them felt warm, her fingers tingling…

Lily nodded to herself again and then dug out a pen from the small leather bag strapped across her shoulder. She took out a pen and reached for his hand. “Call me,” she said, scrawling a series of numbers onto the back of his hand. It was so, so warm.

James, seeming to hardly breathe at the touch of her own hands, frowned. “I can’t— there...my school doesn’t have telephones. Old fashioned,” he added at the surprised scrunch of her brows.

Lily dropped her eyes back onto his hand and bit her lip. “Well. Surely they’ll let you write…” And then she scratched the pen across his hand again, first signing her name and then the rest of her address. She admired her handiwork for a moment and then flicked her eyes back up to James’. 

“I’m going to go,” she said resolutely, hopping to her feet as if lingering would change her mind.

James startled and sat up straight, hands jerking out on their own accord, like they would catch her if she didn’t step back a few steps. “Don’t—”

“Think of any film or TV show you’ve seen, any book...train stations ,” Lily said softly, shaking her head at him. “Train stations are for permanent good-byes or reunions. I’m not saying good-bye to you...so if I walk away now, we’re parting as friends who will reunite at the train station.”

James held his hand out, palm up, open, as he stared at her dumbstruck. She would laugh at the expression if she wasn’t trying very, _very_ hard not to second guess herself. James watched her back away, the sunrise washing over him with soft, golden light. She memorized the details— the protest simmering in his eyes, just past the mischief; his hair mussed up like black flame in the sun; the tug of his lips as they lifted up into a half smile, and how her heart flittered around, like she’d caught him.

“Write to me,” Lily said, turning away completely, confident strides taking her toward the nearest underground station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops, this took too long to write... I promise the next several (12) chapters won't because they're already written haha........
> 
> -The song that Lily sings is New Kid in Town by the Eagles


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >   
>  _I, I loved you in secret,  
>  First sight, yeah we love without reason..._
>> 
>> _...and I had a bad feeling_  
>   
> 
> 
> \- Taylor Swift, Dancing With Our Hands Tied

_“Write to me,” Lily said_

_James watched her go for as long as he could see her red hair, his hand held completely still. When she disappeared around a corner, he took a deep breath, his lungs burning with the intake, and then looked around._

  
_“Do you believe in magic,” he’d asked that first night, when the hour of the night made anything possible._

_Lily shot him a playful smirk. “Why not? Until proven otherwise.”_

  
_James mirrored her smirk now, wishing he could prove to her that yes, all those things she dreamed about were true, and here it was. He made sure no one was around to witness him take out his wand. Carefully, so as to not disturb the precious words on his hand, he conjured up a scrap of parchment and copied her writing onto it, perfect and exact._

* * *

In Cardiff, 1958, a woman named Hope walked home from her job at an insurance office and, on a whim, decided to detour through the forest road. She could never explain why, only that the quiet of the path appealed to her more than the direct but busy road. There was just something about the soft rustling of the trees, the rich smell of soil… 

Partway through the forest, she was attacked. The man jumped out before her, mouth turned up into a sneering, vicious grin. His grubby hands, so very much like claws, reached out for her. Her scream alerted another man nearby, this one rushing to her aid waving a long stick. Faster than she could understand, there was a pop and puff of smoke, and Hope’s attacker was turned into a harmless mushroom. 

An innocent walk turned fairytale in an instant for her rescuer, sandy haired and with kind hazel eyes, turned out to be the wizard Lyall Lupin. They married within a year, with their son Remus born a year after that. 

The International Statute of Secrecy forbade the reveal of magic. The only exceptions were a magical child born into a muggle family or when a deep emotional connection was made, such as when Lyall fell in love with Hope. Otherwise, even if a muggle was rescued from dragons, magic-folk did their best to minimize any contact with non-magical people, going out of their way even. It was just necessary and practical.

This is all to say: magical folks don’t meet muggles, not on purpose. 

All of the stories James had heard about magical and muggle partners marrying were similar to Remus’ parents’ story: an extraordinary circumstance such as being rescued from a boggart, or a dragon, or a siren, or a muggle bus... 

Did being randomly grabbed outside a cinema count as an extraordinary circumstance?

Sirius was doubtful. 

“Your lives weren’t in danger,” he said from James’ bed as he helped James pack for Hogwarts, though _help_ was a stretch. He was meant to be organizing the last of James’ laundry but he just ended up lobbing mismatched socks at James’ head intermittently. 

“You didn’t see how her sister channeled the fires of hell when she ran after us.” James shivered at the memory. 

“I did, actually, and I almost admire her for it.”

James looked up from where he was trying to organize his books into his trunk. Another sock landed nearby, missing his head by a few inches; he chucked it back at Sirius. “I have a feeling that’s like saying you admire your mother...for anything.”

“Effie would never look at me like that,” Sirius countered smoothly, unbothered, “I’m her favorite.”

James snorted because it was true. James was their parents only biological child, but they’d accepted Sirius as one of their own ever since the first time James wrote about him in a letter home— September second, in their first year at Hogwarts. Since then, they showered Sirius in parental love every chance they got, which was what Sirius both deserved and adored. 

Mum _helped_ Sirius pack for their departure in the morning, locating his various books and shirts littered throughout the manor— she’d merely dumped James’ finished laundry on his bed, waking him up ‘round noon, indifferent to his bleary, sleep deprived protests. Instead, she’d tutted about late nights and his impulsiveness being the death of her and he’d better have been a gentleman...

Another pair of socks bounced off James’ forehead, jogging his thoughts back to the present. “Fuck off.” James swatted them away into his trunk. “Where are they even coming from?”

Another balled up sock sailed at his head in answer, followed by, “you actually going to write to her?”

James looked first at his bedside table, where the little bit of parchment sat, and next at his hand. Lily’s address was still scribbled on it, though the words had smeared in his sleep. Merlin...twelve hours ago she’d touched this hand. 

Writing to her...there were endless possibilities for what might happen if he did. With his being a wizard and her a muggle, the odds weren’t entirely in their favor. Worse case scenario, he wouldn’t be able maintain secrecy and would wind up breaking the law, and therefore breaking contact with her. Just the thought of it sent a slash through his core. 

But best case? A flicker of hope in the form of a scribbled address on a bit of conjured parchment...he could see her again. Touch her hand, see her smile, hold her...

“Yeah,” James answered, and finally gave up on his books, desire for this future making him mutinous to his current task. He cast a shrinking spell on it all, dumping the rest of his stuff into the trunk.

James flopped onto his bed, landing parallel to Sirius, and stared up at the canopy overhead. “How was the film?” While James was with Lily, Sirius had dragged Remus out to the cinema to see some spy film.

“Brilliant. Though...don’t tell Moony this but...I had no idea what the hell happened most of the time...can muggles _really_ drive under water?”

“No?” But James couldn’t be too sure, remembering all the things Lily had talked about, like the doctor in the phone box. 

What would he talk about in his letters? Surely not Quidditch trials, or Transfiguration essays...he supposed he had Muggle Studies to fall back on, but he very well couldn’t talk about how he learned about, say, muggle house appliances.

James groaned and shoved a pillow over his face, that slim hope for a future with Lily growing smaller and smaller as the seconds went by. “This is a terrible idea.” 

“It is,” Sirius helpfully agreed with confidence. But then, after a few minutes, “you thrive on those. We’ll talk to Moony.”

* * *

Remus lived down in Wales, though, and James’ mother had struck down any hasty plan to apparate or floo down to see him. It was the night before Hogwarts, she’d reasoned with exasperated patience, let his parents enjoy the last of their time with him— and then she set the boys to work in helping prepare their last meal together. 

The thing was...James _needed_ to talk to Remus, if only so he could work out a strategy for writing to Lily. 

The week with Lily kept replaying in his head, in little snippets, like a wizard photo— Lily’s fingers tucking her red hair behind an ear, revealing a vibrant smile; her laugh, melodic and bold; the slight bounce of her dress as she strode confidently across London. 

_Do you believe in magic?_

_Why not?_

At dinner, it took Sirius two tries and a shove at his arm for James to realize he was meant to pass the salt. Whatever amused thoughts Sirius harbored for James’ distraction were squashed in this moment while his parents looked on with curious concern. 

His mother found him up in his room later, giving a halfhearted attempt at tidying the space before he departed for a few months. Judging by her raised brow, his results were dubious at best but James made no effort to put any more energy into it. In fact, he just flopped back onto his bed, much like he did earlier with Sirius.

Euphemia Potter watched him with a half smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, son,” she said, in a tone that was probably meant to be _very charming_ — but what she said next was, “you’re moping.”

James pursed his mouth and said, simply, “yeah.” He felt then, exactly, what a massive prat he was being, putting the rest of them through this. “Sorry.”

Euphemia perched the side of the bed and patted his knee with slightly less sympathy than she usually doted upon him. “Sirius said she gave you her address? There’s nothing forbidding us from writing to muggles.”

James picked himself up, sitting now, and shook his head, hoping to clear some of the _Lily_ out; it didn’t really work. “Dunno what to say, Mum. ‘Hi, Lily, how are you? I’m great, back at my school for wizards, hoping to schedule Quidditch trials this weekend.’ She’d think I’m mad. The Ministry would come after me.”

“Oh, James,” Euphemia looked thoughtfully concerned about his plight. “You can’t do trials at the weekend, that’s three days from now. Have some mercy for your House.”

Hmm. She did have a point there.

“I’m more worried about your problem solving skills,” Euphemia continued, causing James to cough indignantly, “what is the point of your muggle studies class if you don’t _use_ it? _Substitute_ , James, honestly. What sports do muggles like? Football? Rugby? Personally, you like much more like a footballer…”

“Mum,” James cut in, “how do you know about football? And what is _rug-by?_ Did you just make that up?”

Euphemia smiled patiently, somehow communicating _I’ve raised an idiot_ without actually saying it, and patted his knee again. “I read, dear. Get a subscription to a muggle newspaper.”

James bristled under his mother’s teasing, and then he frowned. “Wait. You’re saying to lie to her?” The words did not sit well in his mouth. 

Euphemia sighed, her lightheartedness fading with the sound and she regarded James for a moment. Her warm hazel eyes, darker versions of his own, were steeped with sympathy. She took his hand in her own cool, papery one, and gave it a squeeze. “James. I’ve always said to be careful who you date, because you can fall in love with anyone. Your heart is good enough to do that.”

Oh, Merlin. “Mum, it’s not like—”

Euphemia gave him a look that silenced him immediately. “We both know what writing to her means.”

James swallowed. He wasn’t an idiot; he couldn’t pretend there was nothing significant in his motivations for writing to Lily. And while he couldn’t speak for her, he carried a hope that her feelings matched his sparking ones. Why else would she give him both her address _and_ telephone number?

And yet, his mother’s warning hung heavy in the air between them and a sense of unfairness settled over him because she was _right._

“You’re saying not to write.”

“James.” Euphemia’s voice was firm, motherly, and she glanced around his chaotic bedroom with affection. “I have raised you with a generous amount of freedom, asking only that you don’t blow up Hogwarts or drive Minnie to early retirement, and to put at least five minutes of thought about consequences _before_ you act.”

James looked away with an air of guilt, knowing he toed the line of both boundaries with infuriating precision, and knowing exactly how often five minutes was reduced to one or none at all. Euphemia seemed to know as well— of course she did, she received all of McGonagall’s letters— and rolled her eyes. 

_“Despite_ your rambunctiousness, Morgana help me, you have a good heart. I see that in the friends you’ve made, in your grades, and in your melancholy for this girl now.” 

James squirmed, seriously considering abandoning his mother’s tough love for more cleaning, but Euphemia held his hand firm, keeping him on the bed with her. 

“James. If this were a girl at Hogwarts, I wouldn’t care,” she said, waving her other hand dismissively. “You could date her, fall in love with her, out of love, get your heartbroken...it might even be good for you.”

“Wow, encouraging,” James deadpanned.

“Everyone should have their heart broken at least once,” Euphemia said bracingly. “Builds character...but you know that, don’t you?”

James’ eyes drifted to his dresser; amidst all the empty ink bottles, sweets wrappers, broom cleaning supplies, and old letters from his parents, there was a framed photo of him and Sirius. The latter mussed James’ hair, and then hovered his hand over it, catching the static he created. 

James loved Sirius— brothers at first sight, since that first day on the Hogwarts Express six years ago. Thick as thieves, they’d been inseparable. The night Sirius betrayed Remus by sending Snape to the Whomping Willow...he’d never felt so terrified. Everything they created, behind the door of their dorm, on the verge of ruin… In the following days, when Sirius begged for forgiveness, James thought his heart would actually rip in half, not knowing how to set aside the pain of it all.

They were better now, the two of them— the four of them, actually, Peter and Remus as well. Their friendship had a solid foundation, having weathered its worst storm, and James couldn’t think of anything else that might shake it that badly.

“However,” Euphemia said softly, nudging James back to the present, “Lily is a muggle...I’m not telling you to _not_ write to her, I’m asking you to think about the complications. You will have to lie to her, yes, and you must ask yourself if that’s worth it.”

James stared at his worn, scarlet rug. Euphemia gave his hand one last squeeze and rose from the bed. She paused at the door, hand bracing against the wooden door frame, and James looked up at her: the same warm, brown skin as his; the wisps of white and gray hair threading through the black; the crows feet resting around her eyes. Affection stirred in James and he gave her the smallest of smiles. 

“More than five minutes of thought,” she reminded him, and then she was gone.

* * *

James did not get any more tidying done in his room that night. Instead, he took his mother’s words to heart and grabbed a quill, some ink and Sirius, and set about making a list. 

_Pros:_

_-Talk to Lily, (no shit, prongs)_

_-Possibly meet her again_

_-pen pals are fun (hand cramps aren't)_

_Cons:_

_-Lying. So much lying._

_-Quidditch_

_-Marauder’s Map_

_-Invisibility cloak_

_-Hogwarts_

_-Wand_

_-Classes_

~~_-_ _Just say magic, idiot_~~

_-Animagus_

_-Remus’ furry little problem (we already lie about that, nothing new)_

_-Your_ ~~_devilishly handsome_~~ _best friend’s flying motorbike_

_-My arsehole best friend’s arsehole bigoted family and their shitty friends (don’t call Effie and Monty arseholes)_

_-But yeah. Death Eaters._

_-Voldemort_

James and Sirius both froze over that last name, their goading mirth dissipating completely. James felt his stomach drop, like the broom he’d been soaring high upon Vanished from under him. 

“Yes, _that,_ ” Sirius said, silver eyes stormy. “Not exactly the best time for a muggle girlfriend.”

“‘M’not trying to make her my girlfriend.” James mumbled, staring hard at the name. “Just...you’re right.”

And on top of it all, he’d have to lie about that— pretend everything was fine, that there wasn’t a dark wizard who didn’t want her and her people dead as he waged war and fractured his world. 

He’d forgotten. 

In the afterglow of meeting Lily and spending the night with her, he’d forgotten about this blight on Magical Britain. Every week— every day, it seemed— there were more disappearances, more mysterious deaths of prominent muggleborns. Attacks, too, with Voldemort’s supporters growing bolder, more fervent and devoted to their master. 

It wasn’t like James was ignorant of it all; his parents regularly discussed what appeared— or didn’t— in the papers with him. He heard the slurs muggleborns were called. He knew what they called families like his, who befriended and defended muggleborns and their families. Fewer and fewer went public about any relationship with a muggle— or, James suspected, they went into hiding. 

What kind of life was that? To deny themselves, their bond to each other? What was it like for the non-magical person— to find out there was a secret world in which some people reviled them to the point of _murder?_

James was lucky in that he’d never know; to these people, he was _desirable_ , if only he’d renounce his allegiance to muggles. His parents had seen it done before; Voldemort’s supporters would try to court him whether or not he did, tempt him with power, threatened his loved ones until he yielded— 

Sickened cold washed over James and he crumbled the list up and tossed it into his rubbish bin where it vanished with a soft pop. “I can’t,” he declared, hollow. “I’d be putting her at risk. I can’t.”

“Who would fine out?” Sirius asked.

“It’s late,” James said sullenly, pulling out the lone pair of sleep trousers left in his dresser, and changed into them. “Let’s just...sleep.”

The very idea— sleep at night— felt odd after an entire week of sleeping at dawn. Expectation clung to him, tapped his shoulder, reminding him of the time like he might once again go to meet Lily. He paused by the window for just a second and glanced out, as if he could see down to London, but quickly forced himself away with a shake of his head.

Sirius had his own bedroom; Euphemia had reserved it for him the first time Sirius visited the manor, letting him decorate it as he pleased even before he officially moved in. He didn’t go to it though, despite James putting out the lights and climbing into bed.

“Never thought I’d see the day,” Sirius said, flopping down beside James. He wrestled some covers over to his side and settled in. “Never thought I’d see you give up so quickly.”

James only paused for a second, frowning at that, and then yanked at the blankets to cover them both more equally. Sleep didn’t come easily, despite his week long exhaustion; he stared up at his dark ceiling, mulling over his mother’s words, the _Prophet’s_ articles and even Sirius’ words. All the endless possibilities that it could go wrong. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Euphemia seemed to know James’ decision from one look at him; she put a comforting hand on his cheek and then shouted up the staircase for Sirius to hurry up, this was the last time she’d call for him.

Sirius came clambering down a moment later, his trunk following behind and narrowly missing the antique mirror James’ great-grandmother had brought with her from India. “Oh— sorry, Effie.” He placed a steadying hand on his trunk the moment he reached the bottom of the stairs, his smile charming and endearing.

Favorite child or no, she still rolled her eyes at him and jerked a thumb toward the door. “Out, now, before you miss the train.”

“Dunno why we have take it,” Sirius grumbled quietly to James as they went onto the gravel drive. “We’re already apparating to the station.”

“Tradition, boys,” Fleamont Potter clapped the both of them on the shoulders. “It’s your last ride, take a moment to appreciate it.”

His eyes went glassy as his grin went broad, no doubt remembering his own glory days on the Hogwarts Express. James returned the grin, and then as one, they all turned in place, appearing with a crack a moment later on Platform ¾. Families bustled about, hurrying their children onto the train as it wailed a last minute warning.

But James wasn’t looking at the gleaming, scarlet steam train; his eyes went to the city beyond, wondering if Lily were still in the city, and where…She’d never said. 

“Okay, boys,” Euphemia said, her voice choked as she swept James into an iron strong embrace. “Last year at Hogwarts. Merlin, how the time has passed. Enjoy yourselves, yes?”

“Take it easy on poor Minerva,” Fleamont added, hugging James as Euphemia moved onto Sirius. They’d long since stopped warning them out of getting in trouble entirely, knowing it was a fruitless endeavor. 

“Write often— Sita’s already at the castle? Excellent.” Euphemia nodded, and then her mouth split into a fond smile. “Oh, there’s Peter and Remus. Give them our love, will you?”

“Go, go,” Fleamont ushered, trying to help the boys with their trunks.

“Dad, it’s okay.” James hefted his trunk away from his father’s tired arms and tossed it onto the train; Sirius’ followed, and then the both of them. 

“Love you, boys,” Euphemia said, silver lining her eyes, proud as could be as she clung to Fleamont’s hand.

James blew her a kiss, returning the sentiment, and waved to them both as the train finally pulled away from the platform. 

“C’mon,” Sirius said as the train rounded the corner, “let’s find Moony and Wormtail.”

* * *

Only Peter was in their usual compartment at the back of the train. Already, he'd claimed an entire bench, stretching his body— feet and all— across the plush red velvet. A crisp, new black leather notebook lay open on his lap, and James found scribbled charts and lists upon the pages.

"Merlin, apprenticeships and job stuff already?" He asked as he and Sirius dropped down onto the bench across Peter.

Peter looked up, his quill paused over his notebook, and his brows raised. "Er. Aren't you forgetting something?"

But James was bent forward, trying to make out the half gibberish that was Peter's handwriting. "Hmm? Hey, where's Moony?"

Sirius let out a snort. "Prefect Moony— where do you _think_ he is?"

There was something in his tone, and in Peter's stare, that made James sit back into his seat, scratching the back of his neck in thoughtful confusion. 

And then he remembered. Remus was a prefect.

"Oh," James said and then, when the other two kept staring, rather pointed now, he felt all the blood rush from his body and he flew off the seat. "Fucking _bollocks!"_

* * *

Responsibility and James Potter often ran as two parallel lines, doomed to never cross paths, only run along each other from a distance. 

The closest James came to it was being captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team but he considered that as more of a sacred duty than _responsibility._ Saving Snape from the Whomping Willow also didn’t count since it was done with a sense of pure panic rather than upholding the rules of Hogwarts. 

But, okay. Yes, he did turn in his homework on time, but only so he could execute some brilliant prank without the burden of Transfiguration theories looming over him. In that endeavor, James was pretty sure he and Sirius held the record for most detentions, surpassing even Gideon and Fabian Prewett. He jokingly referred to himself as McGonagall’s assistant with how many times he’d cleaned out the animal cages in the Transfiguration corridor. 

Which is why this year, James’ last year, promised to be utterly mad. Because Hogwarts’ headmaster, Professor Albus Dumbledore, _was_ mad. 

Mad for making James Potter head boy. 

It was one thing to make Remus a prefect back in 5th year; there were only four Gryffindor boys in their year, and Remus was deceivingly the most mild mannered. For _head boy,_ however, Dumbledore had the pick of the entire year— and he chose James Potter.

James, who spent an entire two days moping about his loss of fun when he’d gotten the letter. James, who spent every full moon illegally running around as an animagus. James, who once did a keg stand outside McGonagall’s quarters and then _vehemently_ denied it was him when she came out.

James, who bloody _forgot_ he was head boy on the first day of term, right before his first official duty. 

Needless to say, his new prefect subordinates and the new head girl— Evelyn DeLacroix— were less than impressed when he hurtled into their meeting carriage, glasses askew and hair in complete disarray. 

While they rolled their eyes, Remus shot him an amused grin which— fuck everyone else, especially the Slytherins, all of whom stared in hateful disbelief— at least he had Remus’ support. 

“Well now that we’re all here,” Evelyn said briskly, side eyeing James. “Er, Potter, where’s your badge?”

“Trunk,” he said, slumping into a seat beside Remus. “Buried.”

“Great start,” Evelyn snorted, at which James waved a lazy hand. “Now…”

And then she droned on, reminding everyone of their various duties throughout the year; read an updated list of banned items, courtesy of Filch; announced all the usual important dates such as Quidditch matches, and exams; invited others to make their own announcements…

James’ eyes glazed over early on and when he found his brain fuzzy, drowsy, he leaned over to Remus. “Is it always like this?”

“‘Fraid so,” Remus replied, voice dull.

“Merlin…” And then James had to stifle a huge yawn that did not go unnoticed by one of the Slytherins.

“You’re welcome to leave, Potter,” Maddox Axton sneered at him, “if you find this above you.”

“Ah, but,” James said, bright now that he had an outlet for his flagging energy, “we’ve yet to go over the consequences of being a bigoted arsehole. I’ll start, shall I?”

* * *

And that was that. The start of James’ seventh and final year at Hogwarts— no stopping it now.

The meeting passed without any further incidence, though with plenty of derision from Axton who clearly thought he, as the pureblooded seventh year Slytherin, was more worthy of the head boy badge than James. 

Fatigue from the past week crept up to James the closer they came to Hogsmeade Station. When he and Remus finally returned to their carriage, James curled up against the cool window glass and did his best to doze off, an actual feat with Sirius and Peter being loud gits, but he was used to it.

No balmy, starry night greeted them when they did arrive; the Highlands had decided to unleash a wicked storm with sheets of rain that soaked through everyone as they ran for the horseless carriages. 

“James, wait,” Evelyn tugged at his sleeve, before he could follow Sirius; rain flattened her brown curls to her head and she looked absolutely miserable as she said, “we have to help Hagrid. Find the first years.”

Oh, bloody— “Right,” James sighed, and then did just that, feeling like a drowned log when he finally trudged into the Great Hall later, just in time for the Sorting.

At the end of _that_ , James had never been so grateful to see a pile of food, and dove straight in, eating until his stomach felt uncomfortably full and his eyes burned with the need to shut for the night. Luckily, the firsties were the responsibility of the fifth years so he pulled himself off the Gryffindor bench with a horrific, cold _squelch_ of his robes. 

“Not so fast, Potter,” Professor McGonagall’s curt voice said over his shoulder.

James looked at Sirius helplessly, knowing he looked utterly pathetic, and right on beat, his best friend in all the lands laughed in his face. With a groan, he turned to McGonagall. “I haven’t done anything.”

“Well I know _that,”_ McGonagall sniffed, and looked at him impatiently. “The password, if you please, Potter.”

James blinked at his Head of House, mind utterly blank. “What?”

“Choose a password, Potter, for Gryffindor Tower! Any will do.”

 _“Why’ve I—”_ But McGonagall’s cutting stare stopped him, and he sighed. “Er. Bupkis.”

McGonagall stared at him, her dark eyes and pursed lips giving nothing away as she studied him, but after a moment she sighed. “Indeed. Thank you, Potter. Get some rest, won’t you? You’re looking rather ghastly.”

“Love you too, Minnie,” James saluted her as she swept past— and then he realized it’d be up to him to inform the rest of Gryffindor of the password. The fifth years were probably halfway to the Common Room with the first years, bloody hell.

“Password’s bupkis,” he said to Sirius and Peter as he bolted past. 

* * *

Up in the dorm, it was silent, and unease filled James as he sat on the ledge of the window. The lights were snuffed out, Sirius had disappeared behind Remus’ bed curtains, and Peter’s soft snores filled the silence, but not enough of it. 

Rain pattered gently against the window, beading silver against the glass. James couldn’t see out to the grounds— he hadn’t even gotten to appreciate his first look at Hogwarts in over two months. The last first. One moment, he’d been on the train, and the next, he was here. Surrounded by stone steeped in ancient magic. 

James took in a long drag of cool air and looked down at the list he’d started. 

_Pros: _

_-Talking to Lily_

_-Lily_

_Cons:_

_-Lying_

_-Voldemort_

James wanted the pros to outweigh everything. The week with Lily, the feeling was rapidly fading into just memory, leaving only a handprint on a corner of his soul he hadn’t even known yearned. 

Lying— he could manage that among his own people, who knew who he was a wizard, but didn’t need to know how he helped Remus every month. With Lily, it was just...he couldn’t. That was his identity. 

Voldemort was...more hiding, more lying, more...everything awful in the world that he didn’t want to bring to Lily. 

And that was it, where he was now: a world divided in war, hidden and lying from the rest— and all the while, he was head boy, responsible for passwords and younger students, and his own grades. He’ll be graduating, possibly looking for a job, or...or fighting for people like Lily to stay alive. 

Here he was: back in reality.

He couldn’t write to Lily. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr!](https://charmingwillow.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >   
>  _And time...  
>  Is taking its sweet time erasing you...  
> ...'Cause we had a beautiful magic love there  
> _   
> 
> 
> -Taylor Swift, Sad Beautiful Tragic
> 
> TW: mild body horror (not graphic) and smoking

Life and reality were not the same. At least, in James’ expert opinion, having existed on this earth for just over seventeen years. Almost eighteen. 

Life was the whole experience of finding your feet in the world, straying from parents into trouble or adventure. It was finding your people, or losing them. Love, laughter, sorrow, heartbreak. It was all of the sunrises, sitting in the misty grass as the sky turned golden and reminiscing on all the dumb shit you got up to. 

Reality was where the fun of life skidded to an unpleasant halt. It was waking up groggy on a Monday morning, still hungover from the weekend. It was the too silent pause when someone said, “sorry, Prongs, I can’t afford that.” It was being disowned for being yourself, or the sinking realization that endings were real. 

It was awful things happening somewhere else, just off the peripheral until you turn your head and find yourself in the middle of it all. And they never ended— awful thing after awful thing, over and over and over, until someone more important or wiser than you thought to look back and remember all that took place. Then they called it history.

Euphemia and Fleamont Potter were both great examples of this, having lived through a great amount of history. Often when James asked questions about their younger years, they’d look surprised, as if time had caught up to them, and then they’d get a far away look in their eyes as they wondered where the time had gone. 

It seemed nice, being on the other side of things, having lived through it all and able to tell the story, to give the warnings. James looked forward to when that came around for him, to when they would all be past the horror show that was Lord _fucking_ Voldemort.

Though September still shone with summer sun, and though the mountains were flush and pretty with green, and the lake glimmered like diamonds… a gray pall had descended on Hogwarts that didn’t only sit on the castle’s stone. James saw it in the eyes of his classmates as they made their way through the corridors; he saw it in the way they all spoke in hushed undertones and gave furtive, wary glances toward any shadow. 

It was quiet too, in a way Hogwarts never was. As a space of learning, there were always pops and bangs and little explosions as students figured out and tested their magic. There were chattering portraits, gossiping ghosts, Peeves mucking about. Now, between the usual classroom sounds, it seemed there seemed to be an unnerving absence of it all. 

In the middle of breakfast, when the flurry of owls dropped copies of _The Daily Prophet_ in front of almost every person there— when he saw the bold, black letters declaring more war dead, James put down his fork and stared up at the enchanted ceiling, wishing… 

Wishing for jasmine floating on soft night air by the river…

* * *

Classes started off well enough— and by well enough, it was just business as usual with the heavy workload, only this time with a sense of last chances and finality— don’t fuck up, their teachers seemed to stress, because now it can’t be fixed with another year. It left them all a bit panicky, and then it was served with a generous dose of existential crisis.

“And remember.” McGonagall lowered her voice rather ominously. “To ensure your success upon leaving Hogwarts, career advice is available to anyone.”

“Why does it feel like McGonagall’s spirit will haunt me if I don’t take the advice,” Sirius stage whispered, making James drop his mouth into his hand to stop the snorting laughter rising up. 

They weren’t laughing on Monday, however. Apparently, now that everyone was of age, their Herbology class was allowed to handle the truly vicious plants. Sirius grinned wickedly whilst Remus let out an audible sigh of regret for continuing the course. 

“Dragonhide gloves, everyone,” Professor Sprout shouted at them in greeting, as she walked briskly down the aisle of work benches. “And throw a decently strong _protego_ over the rest of yourself while you’re at it.”

Everyone did as they were told, some gearing up more hesitant and wide-eyed than others, no doubt wondering where their sanity had gone.

“Wish I’d listened to Peter,” Emma Creely, a sweet faced Hufflepuff, muttered to Evelyn, eyeing the vicious looking plant behind Sprout with extreme trepidation. “Dropped out while I still could…”

Mary MacDonald, on the other hand, set her protective charm and gloves in place with glee, marching past everyone with a determined gleam in her eyes, and challenge pursing her lips. 

“Mad, that one,” Sirius muttered, tying his long hair up into a knot atop his head and then tugging on his gloves.

The plant was as tall as James, its giant leaves arranged in a wild rosette; thick green stalks shot from its center and magenta Medusa-like hair swayed slightly at its tops, globs of puss clinging to the ends. Swallowing back revolution, James listened as Sprout lifted a metal bucket filled to the brim with insects the size of her palm and tossed it to the plant.

“ _Drosera rotundifolia,”_ she said to them, as a dead tarantula was snatched by one of the tentacle hair things _,_ “or, roundleaf sundew. Muggles will find these to appear as small weeds though they are, in fact, carnivorous. Magically, they are— well, you can see _._ They are banned as domestic plants, with possession permitted only to qualified herbologists for research and educational purposes. Question, Black?”

Sirius lowered his hand and said, brows high with haughty skepticism, barely flinching as a centipede landed in the puss and was sucked dry. “Yeah...what the fuck?” A fair and succinct question, given the grotesqueness of the sight before them. 

“Glad you asked,” Sprout, similarly unfazed, answered. “The mucilage is quite useful in various medical grade potions. I believe, Potter, your father has experimented with it for his own potions.”

“Er. Neat,” James muttered, staring in mild horror as the plant’s various foods began to— _dissolve._ Ugh.

“Now!” Professor Sprout clapped her hands and waved at the class. “Do be careful not to get any of the mucilage on you, it _will_ melt through your flesh…”

With that cheerful warning at the forefront of their minds, everyone listened carefully to the rest of Sprout’s instructions. Their real task, it turned out, was to extract fibers from the leaves surrounding the plant’s base, which was fine until—

“Prongs, watch out—,” Remus said, a bit too mildly since James didn’t react fast enough as a glob of thick, gooey puss dripped onto his shoulder and sent immediate, burning pain through him.

“Ah,” Sprout looked over as James’ shriek caused everyone to jump away from the plant and then freeze. She swiftly pointed at Sirius and Remus. “Right, you lot, hospital wing. Don’t _dab_ at it, you’ll bring up more flesh— hurry, before it gets to the bone!” 

Feeling faint at _that_ , James followed Sirius and Remus out the greenhouse, hissing out curses as he did to distract from his shoulder literally being eaten off his shoulder, Merlin, _why_ — he caught Severus Snape’s eye then, the Slytherin’s thin mouth turning up into a sneering smile. James’ next swear was absolutely directed at Snape. 

* * *

Instinct and habit seemed to have Madam Pomfrey look first to Remus for any injury before she even looked at James. He tried not to be offended, even when she finally set her eyes on the burning hole in his shoulder and merely tutted. 

“Over there, if you please,” Pomfrey said, gesturing toward an empty bed with gleaming white sheets and bustling off for whatever salve or potion would heal James.

James hissed as he was lowered to the bed, the pain from the plant acid leaving him shaking with how constant it was. The smell was worse than a thousand years worth of potions brewing in the dungeons and the sound— that was his skin sizzling.

“Be a brave boy, Prongsie,” Sirius felt to encourage in a sing-song voice.

“Fuck off,” James grit out through his teeth, though he did appreciate, how Sirius also squeezed his good hand and didn’t let go. 

“Language, Potter,” Pomfrey came back carrying a tray laden with a tin jar of white cream and two pewter goblets filled with potions, one steaming with purple fumes. She shoved it under James’ nose. “Numbing potion. Drink up.”

James knocked it back like it was his fifth shot of firewhiskey after a Quidditch win— zealous speed that had it dribbling slightly down his chin. Almost immediately, the pain seeped away, and James leaned back into the pillows with a relieved sigh.

Pomfrey tried to hand him the next potion, this one a foul smelling peachy liquid, but James found his body to be quite boneless, as light as a cloud, and he almost dropped the goblet. Remus took it upon himself to help James with this, carefully tipping the potion into his mouth.

“Muscle and skin regrowth,” Pomfrey explained, and indeed, when James finished and rolled his head to look, his shoulder had started to knit itself back to whole. It tingled, and his arm twitched uselessly in response. Pomfrey placed the small tin onto the bedside table. “And for swelling and scarring— incidentally, this cream is made with the same mucilage that did _that.”_

“Fascinating,” Sirius smiled winningly at her. “At what point in the brewing process does it go from harmful to restorative?”

“Do you own homework,” Pomfrey replied as Emma came in, tears streaming down her face and her hand half gone, escorted by Evelyn. “I have patients. Oh, Remus, perhaps take a dab of the scar cream yourself…”

Remus scowled but did as he was told, rubbing it on a still pink slash on his neck after Sirius moved some privacy screens into place. Once done, he glanced down at James and raised a brow.

“Feeling good?” 

James was. Despite his shoulder being an angry, gaping hole; despite Emma’s painful sobs from the other side of the infirmary, he felt like he was taking a leisurely fly from the numbing potion. He gave a dopey grin to Sirius as his answer. 

“Excellent...hey, Moony, fancy a kip in the dorm?”

“Yeah, go,” James waved them off, his arm giving off no more authority than a flobberworm, “I’ma...be here.”

Sirius made a show of tucking James into bed, patting him on the head; James couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed at the display, not as he closed his eyes and let the potions carry him away. Somewhere in the distance, Emma likewise stopped her crying, and Remus dragged Sirius away with a coy grin. 

* * *

James’ shoulder healed fine; barely a scar was left upon his skin— which left Remus scoffing, unimpressed. Euphemia wrote to express her concern with a tone of _don’t get eaten_ , only for her letter to be commandeered by Fleamont who gushed about the sundew’s mucilage.

“Cheers, Dad,” James said, and used the information to supplement his essay. 

Term carried on with its avalanche of homework and Head Boy duties. He set the date for Quidditch trails— a bit later than he wanted, yes, but at least it was set. 

Thing was...James should have known that Snape would retaliate for being called a _cockwomble fuckwit._

For a good solid six years, James had been at odds with Severus Snape. It wasn’t helped by Sirius’ shared loathing of the Slytherin, or Snape’s nosing into Remus’ monthly business. Nor did Snape’s friends try to quell the antagonism; they joined right in, all of them engaging in a bitter, sometimes brutal war of hallway hexes and pranks.

The fall out of Sirius’ prank on Snape had ended with the Marauders mutually agreeing _not_ hex classmates anymore. It was a painful decision, partly for their rowdy teenage pride, but they still honored it.

Not the Slytherins, the bastards. 

It was just typical for them to let it wait just long enough that James forgot he might’ve slighted Snape. So, James thought nothing of it when, about a week after the Herbology incident, he felt a chill in the air as he rushed to Transfiguration. In mid-September, after all, autumn was a sure thing and the air had lost its heated bluster long ago.

Transfiguration this year was simultaneously the most horrible class James had ever experienced and the absolute best. McGonagall had them focusing on repairing old objects— truly decrepit, crumbling junk— into new and sparkling. The theoretics were horrendous, with each diagram threatening to split James’ head. But it was amazing, once the concepts clicked together and the rusty, corroded goblet on his desk became whole and gleaming again. 

“Excellent work, Potter,” McGonagall inspected it over her glasses and promptly awarded him five points. 

Pleased, James leaned back in his chair, and watched the others go about their attempts with various expressions of concentration. Sirius was just putting the final touches on his goblet, weaving an intricate floral design into the polished copper. Remus had gone for sturdy and practical, while Peter’s face had gone red in his effort to patch the metal together. 

James snapped his chair back on four legs and leaned over to Peter. “How’s it going, Wormy.”

“Eh,” Peter sighed and prodded at his goblet; it created a rough, discolored bump. “Barely scraping together an A…”

James turned the goblet and shook his head. “You’re doing everything at once, maybe just fill in the holes first.”

“Yeah…” Peter took a breath, centering himself, and went back to it. 

James watched, twirling his wand idly in hand as he did, and sure enough, once Peter patched up the holes and started smoothing out the bumps, it looked pretty good. Sirius turned in his seat then, having also gotten five points for his gaudy goblet, and barked out a laugh.

“What the hell, Wormtail?”

Indignant, both James and Peter shot glares at Sirius. “He’s doing fine, Padfoot,” James waved at Peter’s goblet but, as he did, he looked at Peter. His brows shot up. “Er. Actually, yeah, what the hell?”

Peter’s face was still red, though apparently not from his magic endeavors, but from the sheet of red warts that bloomed over his face. Peter’s eyes widened as he brought a hand up and felt the bumps— and then he looked up and yelped.

“You too!” He pointed a finger at them all. 

_Ah, shit._

James felt the warts forming now, his skin a tingling and crawling spread that felt warm and tight. They were on Sirius and Remus, too, the former swearing viciously enough that McGonagall whirled from where she was helping Marlene McKinnon, no doubt ready to take away the five points she’d awarded. Instead, she let out a world weary sigh.

“And who did you wrong this time, boys?”

They all looked at each other as the girls fell into laughter. Sirius’ mouth twisted in displeasure, his silver eyes blazing; Remus let out a mild cough that barely disguised the _are you shitting me_ in his frown. They all knew, it wasn’t exactly a secret, but they weren’t stupid enough to actually name anyone. That only ever invited more trouble.

“Why, I’ve no idea,” James said instead.

“Who would ever want to mare this perfect face,” Sirius sighed tragically. 

“A mystery for the ages,” Remus concluded. 

Poor Peter hadn’t even been in last week’s Herbology class and therefore could only offer a genuinely confused shrug. 

McGonagall rolled her eyes and waved them out. “Hospital, then, you lot. Along with three feet on reversing corrosion on metals.”

By the time they reached the hospital wing, the warts had spread from their faces to their hands and legs and...other places. Wincing with discomfort, James walked carefully, mustering as much dignity as he could. Madam Pomfrey saw them and promptly shrieked.

“And what trouble have you made now,” she cried, exasperated, ushering them all to beds.

“Why does everyone assume the worst,” Peter lamented, earning him a disbelieving scoff from Pomfrey. He looked at the others. “But yeah, what _have_ we done.”

James sank into his own bed, the same one from the week before, and said, “I may have called a certain slimy _someone_ a cockwomble fuckwit.”

Pomfrey, fussing over them all with her wand, made a strangled sort of noise that she quickly covered with a disapproving cough. Sirius saw straight through it.

“We’ll get you one day,” he promised with a wink. Since his very first time ever in the hospital wing, it’d been his mission to get Madam Pomfrey to laugh but thus far, none of them had been successful. 

Pomfrey glared at him, not unkindly, and waved her wand at him with a flourish, and then frowned. “Delay charm, it seems, over a nasty wart hex.” She did another complicated sort of wave and her frown deepened. “Resistant to reversal charms…”

The boys all shared dark looks, and then James remembered one very small detail. “Anyone else pass through a cold spot on the way to class?”

“...Fuck.”

“Language, Black!”

“Hex barriers were _my_ idea!”

“Take heart, Wormy, only genius ideas get copied.”

“Ah, that explains why no one copies Sirius.”

“Wanker! Incidentally, Moony, how’s it feel to be home in bed?”

“Get fucked, Padfoot.”

_“Remus Lupin!”_

Sirius tried very hard to be alluring as he grinned at Remus in invitation but even he couldn’t achieve it with the foul red warts all over his face. James snorted, just as Pomfrey lowered her wand and placed her hands on her hips. 

“I’m afraid we’ll have to do this the slow way, with potions.” She regarded them all seriously. “Do you wish to name a culprit? Perhaps they know how to reverse this.”

Again, the boys all shared a look and as one, they all shook his head. Pomfrey threw her hands up. “So be it. Make yourselves comfortable, boys, you’ll be here for a while.”

A while, it turned out, was two full days. Their classmates— the Gryffindor girls— took turns bringing them notes and homework and borrowed books from the library. Apparently being bedridden didn’t excuse them, and so the boys spent their days under a pile of textbooks and parchment. 

On the second day, they received mail. James scowled at the letter from his parents demanding a picture of his condition, their tones amused and completely failing to be sympathetic but— they made him smile all the same. It vanished, however, when the least welcomed person walked into the hospital wing and threw a thin stack of parchment onto the floor between their beds. 

“Lovely of you to visit, Snivellus,” Sirius said, unsmiling from his bed. “Come to see your handy work?”

“Notes. And Slughorn’s assignment,” Severus Snape said, his beady eyes falling disdainfully on them all, his mouth curling into a satisfied sneer as he regarded his handy work. “Due tomorrow.”

James swore. “That was assigned yesterday.”

“Yes,” Snape drawled and then said ominously, “pity you missed the practical lesson.” He turned to go but stopped and looked at each of them, dark triumph sweeping over his face as he did— and then he was gone, having had the last word. 

James watched him go, tasting bitterness, wanting to grab his wand and just blast Snape into the wall for being the cockwomble fuckwit that he was. Sometimes the high road was truly the shittier road—

“I swear on Merlin’s saggy, decrepit balls,” Sirius said emphatically, “that one day I will shit in his cauldron.”

“Why wait,” Peter said, swinging off his bed to get the parchment Snape dropped. “Do it tonight.”

* * *

The boys left the hospital wing wart-free but still tinted pink all over. Madam Pomfrey assured them it’d fade and then they ran to the library to start on Slughorn’s assignment, finally finishing only a few hours before dawn that night— at which point, yes, Padfoot did indeed go for a stroll into the seventh year dungeons…

Quidditch trials, though. They were imminent, the set date approaching, and James threw himself into the planning, even while their mountain of essays grew and their bags became heavy as stones.

“Are the professors _trying_ to crush us?” Peter despaired one night.

And thanks to Dumbledore’s madness, James now got to experience the utterly joyless duty of prefect meetings, the latter of which always left James feeling like an empty husk. With his other responsibilities chipping away at his sleeping hours, he found himself dragging his feet as he and Evelyn walked the corridors. Oftentimes, he struggled to keep his eyes open as they patrolled for anyone out of bounds. 

The problem was that they never found anyone, leaving the entire endeavor pointless. James shook his head one night, and glanced around at the empty corridors. “I’ve been down these halls plenty of times at night and it’s never been _this_ quiet before…” 

Always, at any point in time, there was at least one couple sneaking away to broom closet, or at least one marauder— James and Sirius, usually— causing mischief. But now— nothing. Just that same unnerving silence that had stretched through the rest of the castle since the beginning of term. It prickled at James’ senses, unnatural as it was; it made Hogwarts just seem sort of… lifeless. 

“Everyone’s afraid of the dark these days,” Evelyn replied, quietly, frowning. She stuffed her hands in her robes and looked down the hall, into that very dark, and stopped, going no further. 

“Even you?” 

As soon as he spoke the words, James regretted them, because Evelyn turned disbelieving eyes to him and nodded. “Of course. Being pureblood is only good if you play by their rules, surely you know that.”

Face darkening, both in anger at this reality and shame for even forgetting it, James nodded. 

Evelyn sighed and turned toward the large window overlooking the grounds, slumping her weight against the stone sill. “My parents are talking about going to France. They want me to go with them but… obviously I chose Hogwarts.” 

“Yeah.” James joined her at the window and ran his hands through his hair. “I know that feeling.”

“Your parents are also thinking about leaving?” She sounded surprised and her brow scrunched up as she tried to work that out, that the _Potters_ might be leaving England. 

But James shook his head. “No. Something else…” He shook his head and stared out the window, up to the moon hanging low. 

Restlessness rippled through him as he looked at it; it’d be full next week, and he looked forward to the chance to stretch his legs and _run._ The last time he’d run, been breathless to the point of aching lungs, had been with— with Lily. 

She’d been on the fringes of his thoughts for the past few weeks, a shadow that lived in every wrong shade of red hair, or every wrong scent of floral perfume. James felt hollow from where he pushed away the yearning that rose every time he gave a double glance and found a girl who wasn’t Lily. 

What was she...James shook his head before the thought could fully form. 

* * *

Needless to say, James looked forward to Quidditch trials. 

Sirius stood at his side on the misty Quidditch pitch like he always did— like he was, in fact, James’ fifth limb. Or like, he was a triumphant prince, returned at last after being banished because— well, that’s exactly what he was. In the aftermath of Sirius’ prank against Snape, he'd been banned temporarily from the team for a year. 

James wondered when it would stop haunting them. He knew he shouldn’t, that in the grand scheme of things, Sirius needed a punishment to learn from his mistake and all that rubbish. Being kicked off the team was effective and still made Sirius wilt in shame and guilt and regret. It made the joy gleaming on his face that much better now.

Really, James just missed having his best friend on the team— so he was grateful, especially after the shitty month he was having, that Sirius stood beside him again, barking at everyone to kindly shut the fuck up. When they did, Sirius yielded the pitch to James with a sweeping bow. 

“All yours, Mr. Prongs.”

James grinned and returned the bow. “Why thank you, Mr. Padfoot. All right, you lot…”

* * *

Being up in the air, fifty feet from the ground and his hands warm with pin pricks, felt like a much needed escape. Up here was only the cooling autumn air ruffling his hair, the burn in his throat as he called out commands, and the steady thrum of how his broom beneath him. 

The chaser candidates currently played on teams of two; convenient, as there were only three of them. Kitty Sharp, the team's seeker, agreed to play as keeper for this mock game, her affinity for catching things serving well for this task. Sirius, meanwhile, supervised the two beater candidates competing against each other

It freed up James to observe everyone's playing style, how well they worked as a team overall. Charles Graham needed to take more pass openings… The Webster kid— James couldn't remember his name— swung his bat too wildly, and ended up missing the bludgers more times than not… Iroha Keene seemed alright, small and fast...Henry Marlowe was maybe a touch too hesitant… And shit, Princeton Ryan was a powerhouse, where was he last year?

Keene made a goal, managing to slip right under Marlene's broom, and James grinned. He called out a well done to her, and then shouted at Marlowe to stop lagging behind, and for Merlin's sake Webster, tighten your swing…

At some point, James couldn't remember when, he realized he couldn't feel his face anymore. Late September brought chilly air that, this high up, slowly froze any exposed skin. James didn't mind one bit, not as he made a meandering sweep around the pitch, watching everyone. 

Graham made a goal next, then, somehow Marlowe got one past Kitty which made James grin again, pleased with him. Marlowe wouldn't make the team, he knew that, but maybe a reserve… Some practice could bring him some confidence…

"Oi, James!" Sirius' voice cut through from the other side of the pitch, urgent and direct.

It was all the warning James got before a bludger came out of nowhere and crashed into his arm with exploding pain.

_"Fucking bollocks!"_

* * *

Webster's name turned out to be Brandon, and he followed Sirius and James all the way to the hospital wing, apologizing profusely as James cradled his newly broken arm close. 

"Honestly didn't mean— it's not too bad, just a bit of bone— Merlin, I'm _so sorry_. Does it hurt— fuck, of course it does, sorry."

Sirius’ mouth was screwed up tight and every few moments, a snicker escaped.

Madam Pomfrey gave James a cool look when they burst through the doors. "Three times in one month, Potter. Are you _trying_ to break Lupin’s record?”

"'M not _planning_ this," James grumbled, a little more irritated than necessary as he sank onto what was, worryingly, becoming his usual bed. "Fuck—"

"Language! How many times—" Pomfrey shook her head but drew out her wand and poked at James' arm with it. "And what happened this time? Illegal duel in the coordinator? Stray foot by the stairs?"

Webster looked mighty guilty, his face twisting into an uncomfortable grimace and James spared him.

"Quidditch accident," he hissed again when Pomfrey tapped his arm and it aligned itself with a cracking sound. “Bludger.”

Pomfrey shot a knowing look at Webster, who paled. "Over enthusiastic, were you?"

"Er." Webster swallowed. "Tried taking Potter's advice, keeping my arm tight."

"And you got the bludger." Sirius clapped a hand on Webster's shoulder. "Good for you."

Webster shuffled on his feet. "I won’t be offended...Your decision. I mean, Princeton is obviously better…"

The pain in James' arm was fading into a dull ache as his bone fit itself back together under Pomfrey’s guiding wand; it cleared up his mind, enough that he considered Webster for a moment. "You're a fourth year? Maybe with a bit of practice you can try again when Princeton Ryan leaves." 

It'd only been thirty minutes, he hadn't made any other decisions, but Webster was right about Ryan being the better player. Webster seemed conflicted by the news though, nodding though his dejection while trying to summon an optimistic smile. 

"Well," he said finally, "thanks for trying me out. Er. Sorry again…"

"Happens," James said, smiling when Pomfrey tsk'd. 

Sirius pat Webster on the arm once more as he left. James fell back into the bed's pillows and Pomfrey poked his arm again. 

"All mended," she said, "but stay another hour, just in case. Let me know if you need a pain potion." 

Nodding at the two of them, allowing her prickly demeanor to soften as she did, she swept away back into her office, leaving the two boys alone. Sirius, big dog that he was, immediately told James to budge up and climbed into bed with him. 

"We're getting too big for this." James was two inches off the right side, with Sirius' elbow digging into his side. "How do you and Remus do this every night?"

"We're usually not side by side," Sirius stretched his arms overhead; one of his legs popped and he let out a satisfied sigh. "One of us is usually—"

"That's nice." James cut him off before he got too detailed. "Princeton Ryan is definitely a yes."

"He's got a mixed up name." As if that was any qualifier. “A last name for a first and a first for a last…”

"He hit every bludger _and_ didn't break my arm."

“Yeah, guess you’re right.” 

"Marlowe's nice," James carried on, "but too passive."

Sirius nodded. "And Graham's a bit self centered."

James hummed. Unpleasantly, Snape came to mind. Specifically, it was all the times Snape sent that same accusation at James. "I wasn't like that when I started, was I?"

Sirius snorted, which made James scowl. "Merlin, yes. But Hawke whipped you into shape pretty quick."

James tried not to let his indignation get to him; Sirius might’ve been right, he couldn’t really remember. "Keene is fast. Can I say sleek? She's sleek."

Sirius nodded, bringing his arms under his head and staring up at the white plaster ceiling. His face still shone with elation, his silver eyes softer. Grateful. Not a common look for Sirius Black with all his aristocratic haughtiness, but it was good to see it. 

"Glad to have you back."

Sirius’ smile was quick. “Same, Prongs.” 

Silence fell between them as the hour slowly ticked off. At some point, the doors creaked open and a couple Hufflepuffs came in, one coaxing in her sniffling friend with a ghastly burn mark on her arm. Pomfrey bustled over with her usual abrasive concern that immediately softened when the coaxing friend whispered something to her.

“And have you reported them,” James heard Pomfrey ask as she led the girls to a bed a few down from James’. 

“Please,” the burned girl cried, gingerly holding her arm close, her eyes squeezed shut in pain. “They’ll hurt—”

“Let me guess,” Sirius loudly called over, eyes hard and stormy. “It was a Slytherin.”

The girls both turned bright red and looked away; Pomfrey shot Sirius a glare and magically moved some privacy screens around the girls’ bed, along with a silence charm. Shut out, Sirius huffed and muttered something about Slytherins; James caught several names: Avery, Snape, Axton… 

“Full moon’s next week,” James reminded in a low voice. “Much as I’d like to play vigilante, we can’t afford to serve a marathon of detentions. And you only just got back to the team…”

But Sirius had leaned his head against James’ pillows, his black hair splayed out, and his eyes closed; a small smile twitched at the edges of his lips. “Shh,” he said, “let me dream…”

* * *

Dark orange burned across the sky over Hogwarts a few days later, bringing with it a starry night and a large, golden moon. A wolf’s howl cut through the night, a hungry cry that was joined by a dog’s booming bark and then— snarls, growls.

They were too close to the village and Remus, now a werewolf lost in bloodlust, had scented it. James and Sirius, both in their animal forms, lunged at him, trying to drive him deeper into the forest. Peter, too small and ineffective for this fight, had retreated elsewhere to wait it out. 

Steam blew out of James’ nose as he panted and, a moment later, rammed his antlers toward the werewolf. Sirius was pinned under him, snarling to be let free, and fuck, it sucked to do this Remus. Would tonight cause a new scar? Would it be from James this time?

The werewolf yowled, knocked over by James but was back on his feet within seconds. It was all they needed; James and Sirius kept this up, slowly forcing the werewolf from the village, until the cloying scents of forest, damp earth and warm cedars and pine, surrounded them. Back and back, hour after hour, until the stars twinkled out one by one and the deep midnight sky lightened into dusty blue. 

* * *

James had wanted to run. He’d wanted his lungs to burn for air, to feel his heart hammer from his chest into his legs, his blood to pulse with each step. This full moon gave him that, but none of the satisfaction of the last time he’d run—

No, not that again.

James returned to his human form, panting, just within the tree line of the forest. They’d gotten Remus back inside the Shrieking Shack just in time, though herding him back to it was as difficult as keeping him from the village. 

James’ body begged for sleep, his brain foggy and heavy from staying up all night. As James sank onto a downed log covered in dewy moss, he closed his eyes tight and shook his head. Worth it, he told himself, for Remus.

Sirius stumbled into the tree line, followed by Peter who collapsed onto the ground, crisp leaves crunching under his weight. Instead of joining James on the log, Sirius headed toward a tree with a knot and tapped his wand at it; the knot disappeared with a slight waver, revealing a hollow as big as his hand. 

James steadied his breath as Sirius rooted around in the tree, watching the Whomping Willow through the tree line. The path to the great tree was partly obscured by the creeping morning mist but they could still see well enough. Madam Pomfrey would be by soon to collect Remus.

“Bloody freezing,” Peter whinged, and curled in on himself a bit, squeezing his eyes shut.

James hummed in agreement, grateful he’d thought to stash away a winter cloak earlier. September was almost over; winter was coming, and their mornings standing vigil over the Willow were about to border on miserable. 

Sirius finally found what he was looking for: a lumpy, misshapen joint he’d rolled who knows when— probably before last term ended. He lit it with his wand and took a long drag before offering it to James.

Fucking dumb idea, smoking this at sunrise, right after a full moon...but James sure as hell did not care as he filled his lungs, slow and savoring. At some point, Peter’s soft snores joined the few birds that still sang in the woods, and Sirius shook his head in amusement. 

James wasn’t sure how long they sat there, the sun painting the sky rosy. Long enough that he didn’t exactly feel the ache from the night anymore, only the ache of...everything else. Class would start in a few hours but James’ body was heavy, wary, and just the thought of going back to all of that was...it was…

“This term is rubbish.” Sirius spoke quietly, succinctly voicing what James felt, which was a relief because he wasn’t the only one feeling it.

“Yeah.”

Something in the forest, a squirrel maybe, ran through some fallen leaves and up a tree. Peter twitched and then snored on. 

“You should write to Lily.”

James’ breath caught and then he let out a long sigh and shook his head. “Pretty sure the snitch has flown on that… Besides, bad idea, remember?” 

Sirius snorted, and flicked some ash onto the ground before taking another drag. “You thrive off bad ideas, and you’re good at knowing which ones are worth it.” He paused, and held up a hand, ticking off examples. “Illegal animagus? Yes. That shit with Snape? No. But _saving_ him? Yes. Writing to Lily…?”

Movement on the path caught their attention; Madam Pomfrey hurried down from the castle, dressed in a heavy, dark cloak, and freezing the Willow with a long stick. They fell silent, waiting for her to emerge with Remus, and although James should be concentrated on his friend, all he could think about was Lily. 

Lily, and her shameless laugh, her red hair spilling down her shoulders, pulling him across London. 

“It’s mad,” James laughed to himself. “I spent a week with her and I’m feeling like…”

“Some people have that effect,” Sirius replied, banging a fist on his knee in a clumsy but deliberate show of affection. James, fighting back a grin, returned the gesture. “‘Sides. We could go on double dates one day.”

“Even though she’s a muggle and the world’s going to shit?”

Sirius let out a rueful laugh and ground out the joint into the moss beside him. “I’m the disgraced Black heir and Remus is a werewolf. Odds aren’t really in our favor but— fuck everyone else. Since when I have let bigoted arseholes tell me what I can or can’t do?”

“It’s more like,” James said, “what if I put her in danger?”

“How? Going to put an announcement in the _Prophet_? Drop leaflets over Diagon Alley?”

James looked sideways at Sirius, his mouth pinched up in repressed amusement. “You know I’m going to stand against Voldemort after Hogwarts. That’ll make me a target. And her.”

Two figures rose out of the Willow then, Remus and Pomfrey, and Sirius watched them carefully stride back to the castle. “Only you know how to contact her. Don’t you think she’s safe in the muggle world?”

James didn’t have a retort for that and it made his heart steadily pick up pace and then he let out a frustrated sound. “Merlin, Padfoot. You’re not helping here…”

Remus and Pomfrey disappeared into the castle and Sirius stood from the log and stretched, arms high above his head, and then pulled James to his feet. 

“Being a brooding martyr doesn’t suit you,” he said as he gently toed Peter awake. “Write to her. You know it’ll be worth it.”

Peter didn’t want to be awake and cursed at Sirius’ attempts to get him up. James mulled Sirius’ words as he sweet talked Peter, promising that his bed and coffee were coming, just get the fuck up. 

Finally, James said, “I left her address at home.”

It was his last line of defense, because he couldn’t convince himself much longer _not_ to do anything, not when, a month later, he _still_ couldn’t get her out of his head. 

Sirius, finally successful in the Peter endeavor, smirked, and dug through his pocket, pulling out a familiar scrap of parchment. “Thought you might.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr!](https://charmingwillow.tumblr.com/)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >   
>  _Two headlights shine through the sleepless night  
>  And I will get you, and get you alone  
> Your name has echoed through my mind  
> And I just think you should, think you should know  
> That nothing safe is worth the drive  
> _   
> 
> 
> -Taylor Swift, Treacherous

Once in third year, Sirius had the brilliant but terrible idea to send Howlers to all of the Slytherins. After a night of painstakingly writing each one, they arrived in a flurry the next morning, all shouting what the boys maintained were ‘courtesy reminders’ (“TODAY’S A GREAT DAY TO NOT BE AN ARSE”) but what Professor McGonagall insisted was ‘needless harassment’. 

“Okay. But what do you call someone who follows muggleborns around and shouts insults at them, like Mulciber does?” James had asked, and then received a lecture about  _ allowing teachers to handle it _ and  _ can’t take matters into your own hand.  _

“Bollocks,” Sirius had said, which lost him five points. 

In the end, the boys received a week’s worth of detention. Upon leaving McGonagall’s office, however, they did not return to their dorm, at least not right away. They just sort of wandered the castle, eventually ending up in an unremarkable corridor, with Sirius turning to James.

“You’re my brother,” he’d said as casually as if noting the sun had set. 

And James had nodded, agreeing, and they kept wandering. 

It just made sense— When they put their heads together, they crafted brilliant pranks and magic like the Marauder’s Map. They fed off each other’s energies, bolstered each other. Someone might call it enabling but James was pretty sure he wouldn’t be anywhere worthwhile without Sirius’ support. 

It was Sirius who was James’ first, true friend— Sirius who blew through the veil of childhood loneliness on that first Hogwarts Express ride. It was James who first saw Sirius as an individual and not a product of his family. And later— It was to James that Sirius went when he had family problems; it was James’ family that took him in when he ran away, and James who first offered forgiveness after the Snape Incident. 

Together, James and Sirius figured out that secret no one talked about: blood, sometimes, had nothing to do with family. Families started as friends. There was power in that. 

James and Sirius understood each other. But Remus? 

Remus was his soulmate. 

Sirius came from a family who sought only to further and protect their name, not the person. Ambition and pride poisoned the hearts of many Blacks. Remus filled the cracks in Sirius’ heart, the cracks caused by those people. 

Their shadows called to each other, their silent craving for acceptance and love satisfied with each other. Sirius had learned from James that families helped each other out of love— it was Sirius who suggested they become animagi for Remus. 

_ For  _ Remus, never mind the consequences if they were ever caught. Because Sirius knew what it was to be different and rejected by those around him. Long nights were spent in each other’s beds when it all got to be too much in their heads.

Of course Sirius and Remus fell in love. It was why the Snape Incident hurt so much for them. But when the dust settled, well… the feelings hadn’t, and the rest was history.

And. Yeah. James liked the idea of having someone with him through the night. 

* * *

James mulled over writing to Lily for a few more days.

Putting quill to parchment would have been so easy, so tempting, but he needed a day to recover from the full moon and clear his mind. He and his friends all trudged to class bleary eyed and asleep on their feet, waving off any concern by mumbling excuses about late night studying. 

The next day was rounds. Or, James told himself it was rounds, because naming the squirming, fluttery feeling that pulsed in his stomach every time he so much as looked at a blank sheet of parchment was otherwise impossible. He was more than willing, then, to provide a listening ear to Evelyn as she worried about her family and their desire to flee to France… 

The boys seemed to have fun pestering James about it all though, knowing that he was so close to cracking. That he was straddling the proverbial broomstick, his toes brushing the air, and all he needed to do was kick off into the air… 

“Tell Lily I say hi,” Sirius whispered to him in Transfiguration, earning a glare from McGonagall. 

Another time, during break in the Common Room, Remus dropped a small stack of parchment and a fresh quill on the desk in front of James. 

James had to hurry to catch his inkwell from falling over; the table was crowded enough as it was. “What the fuck?”

“Figured you didn’t have any,” Remus shrugged, “since you haven’t written to Lily yet.”

James scowled, and held up both the quill  _ and  _ parchment he was already using. “I’m good, thanks.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

_ You know _ , James didn’t say out loud but made sure Remus was able to read on his face before going back to his homework. Even still, the question settled over James for the rest of the night, all the way until morning dawned in a wash of dusty pink through the tower windows.

* * *

What was he waiting for? 

What…

For the war to be over, he thought, as he grimly flipped through the  _ Daily Prophet,  _ skimming over stories of disappearances and mysterious deaths. Names jumped out at him from each article—  _ Lewis, Hutchinson, Morris... _ worst was when the journalist tagged a name with an age, as if it warranted more sympathy. 

Nah, James amended, when he landed on one article. A family in Leeds... _ Andrew Lyons, 10 _ . Just one year off from Hogwarts, where he would’ve been safe.  _ That  _ was the worst. He stared at the name a few moments more, and when his eyes rose up, he found himself looking at a small first year. The boy’s face was somber, his body tucked low as he quietly ate his toast. 

How many classmates would this kid be missing? 

Paper tore, both in half and from his hands, as Sirius ripped the  _ Prophet  _ away and gave James an unimpressed, impatient look. 

“I know Effie said to give this more than five minutes of thought,” he said. “But  _ a month _ is a bit overkill.”

James shot the same look back at Sirius. “It’s either this or have Lily end up like the families in the paper.”

Sirius softened, and he glanced down at the paper he’d mercilessly torn away, and he shook his head, now looking stricken. “Prongs…”

But James silently waved him off as he picked up his bag and went to class. 

* * *

At the end of the day, essays and diagrams swimming behind James’ eyes, in between thoughts of red hair and green eyes, he collapsed onto his bed and just stared and stared at the scarlet canopy overhead. 

Peter chose that moment to come out of the bathroom; he took one look at James and shook his head, as unimpressed at him as Sirius had been. “Aren’t you a Gryffindor?”

That stung in a childish way that made James grab the nearest pillow and launch it at Peter who dodged it with surprising deftness. 

“Been a month, Wormtail,” James grumbled, and then frowned. 

One month— August seemed so strange now; in the chill of September, he couldn’t even imagine the soft warmth of a summer’s night. London itself seemed foreign after returning to Hogwarts, his own memories novel now. As if Lily were a mere dream, hazy from time and distance… even if Lily weren’t a muggle, it’d been a month and that—  _ that _ was worrying all on its own for how quickly memories could fade. 

Would she even remember him?

“Well, probably for the best, you know.” Peter said, and dug around the mess around his bed for a moment, looking for his chess set.

James watched him and pointed at where he spotted the Queen poking out from under some half eaten chocolate bars. “What do you mean?”

Peter looked at him with an expression that James couldn’t read. “Prongs, it’s our last year.” He scooped up the queen, then paused, and took a chocolate bar as well, ripping away the rest of its wrapper. “We have to— focus, right? Pass our NEWTs _.  _ And, James— she’s a  _ muggle.” _

James sat up. “Yeah, so?” 

Peter, chewing on a bit of what was most likely stale chocolate, froze with eyes wide in the realization of what he’d said. “I don’t mean like— I mean, there’s the Statue and everything. There are laws we have to follow. Don’t you think it’ll be hard?”

“Remus’ parents seem just fine to me,” James countered, a hard and defensive edge to his voice now.

“Yeah, but they’re  _ married  _ and there wasn’t a  _ war _ when they met. We’re only seventeen. We’re supposed to be finishing school, looking for jobs.”

_ Fighting in the war, _ James thought grimly before heaving out a sigh and settling back into his pillows. “I’m not worried about jobs right now, Pete.”

Something flashed across Peter’s face, something bitter, as he played with a bit of chocolate wrapper for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek before shaking his head. “That’s nice, that you don’t have to worry. You’re lucky, that way, but not all of us are.” 

Shoving his chess set into his bag, and snagging a chocolate bar for good measure, Peter made for the door, opening it but pausing to look back in the frame. “...Lily’s lucky, too. That of all the wizards to find her, it was a Potter. A powerful name for a talented wizard… you could protect her. But if you’re gonna do it, be a Gryffindor about it, for fuck’s sake…” 

And then he was gone, off to chess club, leaving James uncomfortable with how the conversation had turned.

* * *

Remus found him soon after and he simply arched a brow as he regarded James, sprawled over his bed in a lingering daze leftover from Peter’s talk. “How goes it?”

James blew out a puff of air. “Peter stunned me.”

“Good for him, I knew he’d figure that spell out.”

“No I mean— he said some stuff, like that I could protect Lily.”

Remus tossed his bag onto his bed and then himself so that he faced James. “He’s right.”

James rolled over, the covers rustling and tangling along his legs; his feet felt overly toasty for how long he’d been there and he had the sudden urge to hop out and stretch. He did, crossing to one side of the room, barely pausing at the chill kissed window before doubling back again and again— and again. Pacing, restless. “What if she doesn’t want me to? What if it doesn’t get far enough that she finds out about— everything. What if I spent all that time lying for no reason—”

“What if you just stop thinking so much and live?” Remus interrupted with an exhausted roll of his eyes. “Isn’t that what you said in third year, when you helped talk Sirius into the  _ mad _ idea of becoming animagi?  _ Stop thinking so much, Remus, it’ll be fine. No one will figure it out.”  _

“...Mum says I need to think about things.”

“You do, and you  _ have _ .” Remus groaned as he settled into bed, wincing as he fixed his pillow behind his back. “And before you bring up my parents— I  _ know _ you want to— I’ll just say this: my parents have no regrets.”

* * *

No regrets. 

Through another sleepless night, James thought of those words as he stared out into the sprinkling of stars he was able to see through his window. 

James had only met the Lupins a handful of times but his memories of them were full of smiles and a sense of strong, united love. It’d felt soothing to be in Remus’ home, with his mum humming in the kitchen as she made them all tea, and his dad enthusiastically spoke to them about school, quidditch, or wherever else their conversation took them. 

They were happy, with no regrets— only a secure sense of trust that their family could protect itself, just like Peter knew the Potters could protect Lily if need be. 

He could— he  _ would _ , if it came down to it. 

James scrubbed his hand over his tired eyes and rolled over, wishing he could sleep, but all he thought about was how Remus was right. All of them were right, and he’d let a month go by until he could accept it. 

Hopefully it was better late than never. Hopefully… no regrets… 

* * *

  
  


_ Dear Lily... _

  
  


James’ quill stopped there. It always stopped there, as the prospect of continuing seemed impossible. His mind blanked every time— how was it that he could write five thousand words on the uses of  _ gnats  _ but he couldn’t even write a stupid letter? 

  
  


_ Dear Lily... _

  
  


And then what?  _ My shoulder got melted off first week back but Pomfrey healed it so well I don’t even have a wicked scar to show for it. Oh, and that wankstain, Snape— who you don’t know but trust me, he’s vile— set up a hex that gave us all red warts. Oh, and my fucking arm got broken by a semi-sentient flying ball— _

James shook his head and dropped it in his hands. The quill feather tickled his cheek, so he let it drop to the parchment, creating a dark blotch of ink in the middle of the parchment, ruining it. With a frustrated sigh, he crumpled it and tossed it off the bed, where it landed with several other similarly ruined balls of parchment. 

Ten of them— or twelve? Merlin, he really was pathetic. He could see what his mum meant, about problem solving...Substitution, she said. 

What was his problem?

Through the stone frame of his window, the moon shone, waxing in almost the same position as it had when James and Lily ran through London. A month…

Pulling a decisive breath, James pulled forward another sheet of parchment. 

  
  


_ Dear Lily, _

_ You wouldn’t happen to remember kidnapping a poor, unsuspecting bloke in London and then making fun of his school’s name, would you?  _

_ Because I remember you, all the time, and this ridiculous school feels dreary after the week I had with you. _

_ I know it’s been a while but would you still want to exchange letters?  _

_ Yours,  _

_ James Potter _

* * *

It was such a small thing, sitting there, carefully folded into quarters and placed in an envelope. It sat in the middle of the dorm, on a chair James had dragged over for the explicit purpose of using as a pedestal. 

So small, so inconspicuous…

“You know muggles don’t use parchment, right?”

James’ chin slipped off his hand and he groaned. “Goddammit, Moony…”

“What?” Remus shrugged indifferently. “I’m just saying. Transfigure it.”

“Yeah, fine.” And with a flick of his wand it changed from vaguely yellow and thick to white and flimsy looking. “...It’ll survive the trip to her house, right?”

James didn’t doubt his owl’s capabilities; Sita was strong, still young, and with a hard head that matched James’. But when none of the others said anything, he looked up and found them all watching him with various degrees of skepticism. 

_ “What?” _

“Prongs.” Remus began gently, as if to a first year— not even a first year, an actual pre-school child. “You can’t use Sita to send letters to Lily.”

“Why not—” And then it hit him as strongly as if Brandon Webster nailed him with another bludger. “Oh. Fuck.”

“Yeah. Fuck.” Sirius nudged Remus. “Well, Moony, tell him how to put us out of our misery.”

“Why  _ your  _ misery— I’m the one who can’t send her letters!”

“We’re the ones who’ve had to watch you mope all month,” Peter said at the same time Remus scowled.

“Why do  _ I _ have to know,” Remus said and then looked scowled. “Just cause Mum’s a muggle…Statue doesn’t apply to her, I can still owl her.”

James flopped backwards onto his bed, feeling rather frustrated with this new and unexpected problem— Right. Problem solving. Remus was out but there were other students, muggleborns, who still couldn’t use owls and so there had to be a way for them to stay in contact with their families…

Sirius’ head appeared over his, followed by a poke in his side; James smacked his hand away but he wasn’t left alone. “You’re not giving up.”

“Didn’t say I was,” James rolled out of the way just as Sirius climbed onto his bed next to him. 

“Good, because I’ve put too much emotional labor into this.” Sirius made himself at home against James’ pillows. 

James scowled at Remus like,  _ control your boyfriend,  _ but was met with complete apathy. James rolled his eyes. “I’m so sorry I’ve inconvenienced you with something for which I didn’t even ask your help.”

“Thank you,” Sirius said loftily. 

James shoved him off the bed, earning a strong curse for it, and then hopped up from it himself and crossed the room. The Marauder’s Map sat on Sirius’ bedside table, soft from years of use; he muttered the password charm and black lines formed and curled onto its surface. After a moment, James folded it and stuffed it in his pocket. The letter was smooth, light, when James picked it up from the chair and went for the door.

“You’re not actually gonna try and use Sita, are you,” Peter asked.

“Nah,” James threw open the door and saluted them with the letter. “Gonna find Mary MacDonald.”

* * *

The tiny dot on the Map had been near the Great Hall when James checked up in the dorm. He hurried through the castle and, when he checked the Map again, Mary had gone outside, towards the Greenhouses. 

Growing up in a cramped and large, concrete apartment building with her single mother and two siblings, Mary had taken immediately to Herbology, falling in love with the smells and textures of nature. The Greenhouses were where she spent most of her time, helping Professor Sprout with some personal projects or just quietly sketching the various plants. 

James wasn’t surprised to find her out here, though why she’d chosen to go  _ now _ , so close to curfew, and when the weather was turning to freezing was beyond him. He shivered, and crossed his arms, cursing himself for not grabbing his cloak as he rounded the corner— and froze.

Back flat against the smooth, cloudy glass of the fourth year greenhouse, Mary MacDonald snogged a bloke as if her life depended on it. His hands were tangled in her curls, and her leg had traveled up, to wrap itself around his thigh, and they both moaned in their passion.

“Oh—  _ fuck _ ,” James hissed, and then regretted it when Mary looked up and shrieked.

“What the fuck, Potter!”

James recognized her partner— Robert Dowson— as he jumped away, hand rubbing the back of his neck in mortification. Both of their cheeks were ruddy, either from embarrassment or the heat of their...moment. Dowson had turned away completely.

“Oops…” James swallowed. He shoved his hands into his pockets, for an attempt at casual. “Just wanted to, er, ask you something.”

Mary, still flushed, opened her mouth in disbelief and then glanced at Dowson, who shook his head like,  _ get rid of him. _ She glared at James. “It can’t wait?”

“Er…”

Wrong answer. Inside the greenhouse, some plant made a growling sort of sound and Mary banged a fist on the glass to silence it and then stabbed an impatient finger behind James. “Get out of here!”

James bit his lip, nodded, and then shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to go but he only made it two steps before turning right back ‘round. “You know, I’m Head Boy and curfew is coming up…”

Mary, who had placed a hand on Dowson’s chest, and was pulling him back to her, glowered at James. “Don’t you dare use your power against me, you hypocritical toerag.”

James held his hands up in surrender. “Quick question, won’t take a minute.”

Mary’s hand curled into a fist and she cut a glance at Dowson.

He shrugged. “Could hex him away…”

“Oi!”

Mary gnawed on the inside of her cheek as she looked between James and the boyfriend she very much wanted to go back to. Finally, she let out a frustrated groan and threw her hands up. “Okay, fine. Fine! What do you want?”

James held up his letter; it was pale in the night, barely a shadow of color that not even the castle’s torches touched. “How do you send mail to muggles?”

Mary blinked, and her hand fell from Dowson’s chest as she turned to James. “What?”

“It’s just, er, there’s someone I want to write to but she’s a muggle, so…”

Mary’s expression was unreadable as she stared at James. Without looking over at Dowson, she said, “Robert, can you excuse us for a moment?”

“Wait, seriously?”

But Mary marched past James, her lips pulled up in a grim line, and threw open the door of the nearest greenhouse and gestured for James to follow. He did, glad for the privacy, but shot Dowson an apologetic grin which was returned with an unimpressed eye roll.

Humid air, thick and moist, choked at James' senses inside the greenhouse; Mary stood by a row of small, purple potted plants whose leaves jingled meerily. James closed the door behind him and leaned against it, hands in his pockets again.

Mary picked up a mister and started spraying the little plants. “Who is it?”

“A girl I met in London last month.”

Mary cut her golden eyes to him, still spraying. “Why do you want to write to her?”

Her tone, suspicious and measured, made James stand straight. “Are you her mum now? Asking about my intentions?”

_ Clunk _ ; Mary set down the mister on the rough wooden work bench and squared her shoulders. “Yes.”

She looked over at James, her eyes narrowed, her jaw set hard; she was tense, defensive, and James swallowed as he realized his mistake. Mary spoke before he could. “Why do  _ you _ , a pureblood, want to write to a  _ muggle?”  _ Mary crossed her arms, a small action that revealed her quiet distress. 

Mary was a muggleborn; it was why James had sought her out in the first place, but it also made her a target for some of Hogwarts’ more bigoted residents who felt she didn’t deserve to be there. She was wary, and she had every right to be. 

“My intentions are— ” James started and then stopped, wincing. He had only a grand sense that it’d be worth it, that what he felt during that week wasn’t his imagination, that Lily  _ wanted _ to know him as much as he wanted to know her. “I just— met her, a month ago. She gave me her address and I...tried to let her go but I can’t forget her.”

For lack of something else to do with his hands, James swept one through his hair and just let it rest on the back of his head as Mary stared impassively at him. 

“Her name’s Lily,” James continued, not knowing why, but knowing Mary would keep the secret. “She was supposed to see some dull play with her sister but decided— I dunno, impulse— she saw me, grabbed me, and we ran away to some park. Spent the whole night talking and walking. Got fish and chips. We did that every night for a week and it— it felt like...” 

James stopped there because the more he went on, the more exposed he felt himself, especially as Mary’s expression slowly softened and she looked all around her, at her feet, at her hands, at the plants...and then finally settled on picking up the mister again.

Mary said nothing as she mulled over James’ words and misted the purple plants. Their happy jingles filled the quiet until James, hesitant, spoke up again. 

“Mary, you know that I want to—if the opportunity arises— I’ll fight against Voldemort…”

Wordlessly, Mary nodded. “You’ve given that impression over the years…” She let out a long sigh and stared unseeing into the darkness beyond the glass windows. “The rule is that mail can’t be delivered by owl to a muggle address unless there’s a magical person living there.”

James blinked, but nodded, listening carefully, and Mary continued.

“Tell your owl the letter is for muggle forwarding. Most wizard post offices offer that service, Hogsmeade does. A muggle liaison officer will pick it up and process it into the muggle system. There’s a small fee for postage on your end but nothing outrageous.”

“Okay,” James nodded again, “okay...how does she write back?”

Mary looked around for a second and drew out her wand, conjuring a piece of parchment and pen. She carefully pushed aside some miscellania on the word bench— a forgotten glove, bits of soil, torn canvas— and scrawled something across the parchment. 

“This is the Hogwarts’ muggle forwarding address— all magical addresses need to register for one if they want muggle post. There are charms in place at every post office to detect them so they can be intercepted by a liaison officer.”

She capped her pen and stuffed it into her robe pocket, along with her wand, and reached out to give the address to James, but didn’t let go when he grasped it. Her golden eyes were edged with warning. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“You won’t,” James promised, and Mary released the parchment. 

She gave the plants one more mist, and then pat down her robes and crossed her arms, her irritability back. “Now can I  _ please _ go snog my boyfriend in peace?”

James opened the greenhouse door with a bow. “Cheers, Mary.”

* * *

Sita was pleased to see him; she hooted softly from her perch and soared down to meet him, nipping at his finger affectionately. 

“It’s not a letter for Mum and Dad this time,” James murmured apologetically as he carefully tied the letter to her leg. “It’s for the er, muggle forwarding service. Take it to the Hogsmeade post, yeah? Although feel free to visit Mum and Dad after, maybe they’ll have something for you to bring back…”

Sita hooted in understanding, and James, finished with the letter, dragged a caressing finger down her tawny feathers and smiled. He released the letter, and let Sita onto his arm, walking her to the south facing window. Heart skipping a bit, he let her fly off, towards Hogsmeade; James looked beyond that, his eyes following a path of stars twinkling over the mountains.

Around him, the owlry stirred with the sounds of wings unfurling, of soft hoots and whistles; a tiny bone fell from somewhere above. It was comforting, this pocket of sound in an otherwise quiet castle. James hoisted himself up onto the window’s wide ledge and let it settle over him as he watched the castle grounds.

* * *

The weekend was a long, dragging affair during which James only had his homework and one Quidditch practice to distract him. Thankfully, practice  _ was _ a good distraction, from start to finish, and even a couple hours after while he poured over strategy diagrams. 

Monday came, and James never felt so grateful for classes, if only because it was something to  _ do _ during the day. He could just sit at his desk, taking notes, getting lost in the lectures or practicing the new spell or theory. 

On Tuesday night, during the middle of rounds with Evelyn, Sirius appeared. 

_ “Morgana’s tits,  _ Black!” Evelyn shrieked when Sirius came ‘round a corner, seemingly straight out of nothing from the shadows. “Don’t  _ do _ that!”

James knew better, and scowled at Sirius when he spied a silvery corner of the Invisibility Cloak dangling from his side bag. “Yeah, Padfoot, be more fucking careful.”

“Had an idea,” Sirius said, leaning himself against the stone wall, casual as you please, as if being out past curfew and chatting to the two head students was nothing. “If you want to join.”

“We’re in the middle of rounds,” Evelyn said incredulously. “Do you have no respect for— no, of course you don’t, Merlin, why does Dumbledore even try with you lot?”

James, who had been alternating between dragging his feet in boredom and general despair, perked up. “Idea? When? Where?”

“Right!” Evelyn threw her arms up in surrender. “Shall I preemptively give you boys detention now, or…?”

“Bad faith, Evie,” Sirius  _ tsk’d _ at her. “What makes you think we’re causing mischief? Maybe I just fancy a cup of tea with my best mate.”

Evelyn gave him a flat stare, before rolling her eyes and stalking off, dark curls bouncing and robe billowing in her wake. Once she was ‘round the corner, Sirius pulled out the Invisibility Cloak and handed a bunched corner to James. 

They barely fit, tall and broad as they’d gotten over the years, but they managed well enough; the shadows clinging to the stone walls and the Marauder’s Map certainly helped them out and soon they found themselves standing before the two stoic gargoyles that guarded the staffroom. 

Sirius hissed the password— learned, he said, by casually staking out during one of his breaks earlier that day.

“ _ That’s  _ what you were doing?” James asked, hurrying into the room behind Sirius. “I thought you and Moony…”

“Remy had a nap, no funny business,” Sirius laughed, and threw off the Cloak. “Oh, here…” Sirius dug through his bag for a moment before pulling out a bunch of little silk pouches filled with—

“The  _ fuck _ is that smell,” James covered his nose and absolutely did not touch what ever it was that Sirius held out. 

“Bit of everything, I think,” Sirius said, frowning at the pouches’ contents, which seemed to mostly be little bits of brown...something. “Wood chips from Herbology— silver leaf tree? Powered laceflies...droppings from the Transfiguration mice…”

James’ brows rose higher and higher as Sirius went on and found he could only shake his head and hold his hands open as if to say,  _ what the fuck, why?  _

Sirius went to a cabinet along the back wall; he opened it to find a chaotic mosaic of colorful boxes and tins. James recognized some of the boxes as tea his parents kept in the house and slowly found himself smiling. Sirius pulled some out and stuffed his vile replacements into them, followed by a charm to hide the smell. 

“Brilliant,” James laughed and went to help.

“Slughorn likes the more exotic flavors,” Sirius muttered, handing over some pouches to James. “Greens and white teas...Arsehole...tried to get Reg and I to have a family reunion…”

“What happened?”

Sirius shrugged but James cut a glance over and noticed how tight his shoulders and jaw were, how he shoved pouches into boxes with a little more force than necessary. “The usual— insults, wands...left with a detention for tomorrow…Reg threatened to owl Mother…”

“Effie will totally have your back,” James said, thumping Sirius on said back for emphasis, and earning the smallest of grins. “Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised if she already sent Slughorn a scathing letter for it…”

Mum was good in that regard; most teachers were frustratingly blasé about the rift between Sirius and the Blacks, citing the importance of family blood but not Euhphemia Jodha Potter. 

When Sirius showed up on their doorstep battered and soul limping, she’d written to the Board of Governors and successfully petitioned to be Sirius’ parental contact during the remainder of his schooling. 

“Vile bitch,” Euphemia had sniffed when Walburga Black readily agreed, claiming— through Howler— that Sirius wasn’t her son anyway. “How she could not love this boy…” And then she Vanished the Howler out of existence and went to help Sirius unpack.

Since then, if the Blacks wanted Sirius for anything, they had to go through Euphemia— unfortunately, it left him almost defenseless when it came to Regulus and teachers like Slughorn, who’d paid more attention to names than circumstance. 

So, James helped Sirius replace Slughorn’s tea with more disgusting options; it was the least he could do. 

Afterward, Sirius heated up the kettle beside the cabinet while James very carefully chose a box of plain black tea and found some cups. They settled at the teachers’ communal table and enjoyed each other’s company in silence. The tea and the warm wood paneling of the staffroom lent an air of comfort to James, and with Sirius next to him, he started to feel some of his simmering restlessness fade. 

Neither were surprised when, twenty minutes later, the staffroom door swung open and Filch stalked in, a delighted sneer lighting his weathered face at seeing James and Sirius committing two serious offenses— being out of a curfew  _ and _ out of bounds.

“Detention for both of you!”

Sirius grinned amiably and set down his tea cup and pulled himself out of his chair with a stretch. “Excellent, thanks very much.”

“Wonderful timing, as always, well done,” James saluted, thanking Filch for bestowing what most students dreaded. “See you tomorrow.”

Filch first seemed bewildered at their nonchalant attitude but he quickly recovered into suspicion. “What’re you plotting…”

“Nighty-night, Filchy, give Mrs. Norris a cuddle for us!” James pushed Sirius out of the staffroom and into the dark corridor.

Two hallways and staircase later, James knocked his shoulder into Sirius’. “Thanks,” he said.

Sirius wordlessly, but meaningfully, returned the gesture.

* * *

Three more days— no letter. James and Sirius served their detention with Filch, though they spent more time talking through the mirrors than actually cleaning but at least it kept James busy.  Of course, once the tea prank was discovered— by an outraged Slughorn— Filch ratted them out and James spent two more nights in happy distraction, scrubbing cauldrons this time. 

In the meantime, Sita returned for James with a package of his mother’s baking and a letter from Euphemia promising to ‘talk to Slughorn’. James refused to admit how bright the spark of hope he got when Sita flew for him was, but he tampered down the following disappointment with a large bite out of a homemade cinnamon roll. 

Friday dawned cold and miserably gray, and James dragged himself out of bed with the resigned acknowledgement that the weekend had basically arrived and with it, two more days of nothing. He didn’t bother looking up when the mail arrived, wanting, for once, to eat in peace and without expectation. 

So, when an unknown gray owl dropped a small letter before him, he found he didn’t know what to do.

Remus noticed, pausing during spreading jam over his toast; when James didn’t move, he carefully set the food down and flipped over the letter. It was addressed to James in the same handwriting as the address up in the dorm. 

Peter whistled. Sirius smiled madly. Remus pushed the letter over a few inches and James, heart a wild drum grabbed it and tore it open— and read.

_ Ah, so His Highness has at last deemed that I, lowly peasant, am finally worthy of a letter. Lo, that he hasn’t forgotten me, so high in his posh boarding school, a fucking month after we first parted… _

_ What took so long? _

_ -LE _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr!](https://charmingwillow.tumblr.com/)


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